Bolt Hole by Gheorghe2 and ginef
by ginef
Summary: Post TPM. Knight meets information broker. Things happen.
1. Mirror Image

BOLT HOLE 

By Gheorghe2 and ginef (both @aol.com) 

INTRODUCTION AND OPENING THOUGHTS: Yes, we're back. To bring us out of retirement and reunite us it took the prospect of writing someone with even more potential angst than Luke, Mara, Leia, and Mulder combined. Nothing thrills us more than getting to wreak havoc on fictional characters and the universe they occupy. 

All that, and we wanted to make PG cry... again. 

This all seemed like a really good idea after a couple of rounds of Jessa's drinks during Mara's bachelorette party in Las Vegas (beware of "The YOW", boys and girls, it packs a lethal enough punch that you will allow another drunk to duct tape Padawan braids into your hair). Amazingly, when sobriety set in some 36 hours later, it still seemed like a good idea. Angst, sex, still more angst, still more sex, plot, and a story that kept getting longer and longer. Hey, it's us. 

G2 regrets that there isn't enough booze. Ginef wanted more smoking. In the tradition of the Mary Jane (as opposed to Mary Sue story) we've inserted things of special interest to our friends. Really, PG, we tried. Things get broken. There is some food. The TTBU (Things That Blow Up) factor, however, is quite low. And be sure to blame the Obi-Wantons for the ongoing list of YOW's uh... engaging physical attributes. They appear by (repeated) special request. 

We don't own any of it, we don't care what you do with it, and if you try profiting from this in anyway, we'll hunt you down and blast you into oblivion. 

This story has been rated R, for mature audiences only. In the tradition of our other work, what's going on in people's minds is more far important than what happens further down. But there is smut, along with some drinking, smoking, and other acts of immorality, depending upon your point of view. Consider this a first caution -- Given what else we do in this story, smut and booze should be the least of your concerns. 

WARNING -- Because of what we know is ahead in Episodes II and III, this story could not end well. If you are looking for something more uplifting go rent "Titanic." It has a happier ending. Honest. G2 adds this: The last 2 years in Tahiti have been great. I left for reasons which made sense then and with the resolution of certain plotlines, it's not so important anymore. But don't bug me about it. Or my friends. We get cranky. Ginef adds this: Where'd I leave my beer? Thanks to our beta testers Cyndi, Trace, Shelba, PG, Nancy, and Liz. Extra thanks to Liz for creating this great site and hosting our little epic on it. 

This story is dedicated to the Obi-Wantons. Read it and drool, ladies. 

CHAPTER ONE - "Mirror Image" 

"Dar, did you know that other fathers take their daughters to a museum or shopping or even out to lunch in a restaurant with," the young woman, gray eyes smiling, paused for dramatic effect before whispering, "linen tablecloths?" 

Clive Darrow threw back his head and laughed as he put his hand at the small of his daughter Linnayn's back and guided her into the X'Kali Bar on the nearly anarchic planet of Atzerri. 

The place was crowded, but not uncomfortably so. A dozen species milled about, speaking as many languages. It was the typical mix found in every dive, in every spaceport throughout the mid-rim. 

It was maybe only slightly worse than the half dozen other places they had been in the last two weeks. With a tilt of his head, Darrow indicated a table toward the back. Private, but still public, he would say, if Linn had asked. 

Linn followed her father through the bar, alert as he was for friends and enemies, sources and snitches, and, especially, snatches of news and talk. She slid into a seat with her back to the wall, affording her a good view of the bar's neon lit and chrome pseudo upscale decor. 

The joint put up a good front, she had to admit. If you didn't look too closely it was difficult to see the chipped paint, cracks in the foundation, and silver engine tape securing the bar to the wall. She, of course, noticed all of these things, just as her father had taught her to. Just once, she sighed, couldn't they go somewhere that didn't make her feel that she needed to bathe on returning to their ship? 

"Hear anything?" Dar asked, as he waved to an associate across the room. 

"Just more of the same poodoo that's been dominating every conversation for almost a month," she said wearily. "Blah blah Trade Federation's stunning humiliation at Naboo, blah blah blah, Palpatine is Chancellor, blah blah blah blah what is the Republic going to do with all those nice droid armies and ships it confiscated." She finished her listing with a frustrated sigh, then added, "Oh, and of course, let's not forget the most burning question of our day, the one every one of our clients would pay top credit for, where **did** the Queen of Naboo get that hairstyle?" 

"At least it makes for good business," Dar said, obviously amused at her annoyance. 

"Oh sure," Linn replied, scanning the crowd as she quoted her father's words back to him. "With the Trade Federation gone, those of us on the fringe now have an unprecedented opportunity to fill the vacuum.'" 

Linn stretched her lanky legs out in front of her before she turned her attention back to Dar. He was absently tapping his fingers on the table in time with lively music coming from a woodwind band in the corner, but Linn saw there was nothing inattentive in his countenance. Dar's eyes were darting cautiously from one end of the room to another, studying, registering, and remembering. Dar had been very tense the last day or two, and was being unusually cautious now. Linn had had enough of his overly protective father games. 

"So," she drawled, "are you going to send me off on another fool's errand while you meet with some seedy Trade Fed snitch or Naboo blockade runner or are we finally meeting the customer?" 

The challenge jarred him. He ran a hand through his thinning gray hair, a nervous gesture Linn knew well. "What makes you say that?" 

Fine, if he wanted to play it that way. "Because we've been zigzagging across former Fed space for two weeks now. Because we've met with every hotshot Corellian smuggler we know. Because everyone's asking, but no one's figured out why the Trade Fed would have gambled their entire franchise for a no account world like Naboo." 

Dar smiled broadly, with pride, she knew. But he also didn't answer her question. 

She pressed again. "So, are we finally meeting the customer?" 

He hesitated, then finally said, "You know the Senate has set up a Commission to investigate the Naboo blockade and make a report to Chancellor Palpatine?" 

Linn nodded. 

"We have a contract with one of the Senate Councils. I contacted them four days ago. We finally have something to report." Darrow fished a data disk cartridge out of his vest pocket, and turned it between his fingers. "The courier, a one Ben Kenobi, is meeting us here." 

"What's on the disk?" Linn asked. 

Dar frowned. "Not this time, Linnayn." His eyes again moved across the room, and Linn was startled to see the first stirrings of confusion there. "I'm not sure what it means. But, I don't like it, and I'll be glad to hand this one off to someone else." 

"Dar," she bristled. "I could..." 

He caught her under the chin with his hand. "Just this once, let me be overprotective without a protest, okay?" 

Linn rolled her eyes as her father brushed a lock of her hair off her face. "Do you think they might have something in my favorite color?" 

She smiled, signaling all was forgiven. It was a private joke of theirs. Dar always said that her hair and his favorite ale were the same color of malted barley. 

"I'll go see." Linn replied with a wry grin. "I think I'll need two just to survive this dump." 

"One," Darrow said firmly. 

"Three," Linn countered. 

Darrow held up two fingers. "That's my final offer." 

Linn started to rise. "Let's table this discussion for now." 

"Whatever's on tap." 

"I know. I know. And no citrus fruit to dilute it." This was just the type of place that would try to pull off an abomination like that, Linn thought as she began making her way back through the crowd. 

*** 

No Republic ship or royal cruiser for them on this trip, Obi-Wan Kenobi thought irritably. He was pressed against a wall of skin, fur, scales, and hair, waiting to disembark the public transport that was angling to dock at Talos Spaceport on the smuggler's paradise known as Atzerri. He glanced around at his fellow travelers, wishing that many of them thought bathing was something one did more than just on major holidays. 

His eyes caught and stopped on the back of a graying man with shoulder-length hair and he exhaled in pain. For a shattering second, Obi-Wan thought it was his Master, and that there had been some kind of terrible mistake. But then the man turned sideways bearing the face of stranger. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, feeling the barely healed scab within his soul tear open again. 

He and Qui-Gon Jinn had been together, Master and Apprentice, for over ten years. They had lived together, traveled throughout the galaxy, fought and learned together. Qui-Gon had been his master, teacher, mentor, and friend. He was the closet thing he had ever had to a father. 

Obi-Wan had innately known all this, had known that he loved Qui-Gon, admired and respected him. But, until the Sith had sliced through his Master, Obi-Wan had not realized how intense and close the Force bond had been between them nor how dependent upon that bond he had been. 

In the heat of their duel with the Sith, he and Qui-Gon had, as they had many times before, become an extension of the other, perfectly matched, parrying and thrusting, advancing and retreating like a superbly choreographed dance. It was the sort of deep and profound rapport only possible in the Force. Then the bond was gone, severed forever, before his eyes, with the stab of a Sith's blade. It had felt like a talon ripping across his mind. 

It was not supposed to have ended that way. Under the Code, the Master-Apprentice association gradually evolved, as the apprentice slowly moved from a subordinate learner, to that of a co-equal. Before sending him out with the other Jedi as they fanned across space searching for information on the Sith who had inexplicably appeared on Tatooine and Naboo, Master Depa Billaba had warned him to be mindful of the repercussions of so traumatic an ending to the relationship. But she had not told him how to heal the wound, or how to even begin to bridge the gaping chasm that opened in his psyche. Maybe, he thought bleakly, Depa had not offered him a cure because there was none. 

The Sith had killed his Master. He had killed the Sith, and had ascended to Jedi Knight. He was a hero, of sorts, Obi-Wan supposed. He certainly didn't feel like one. 

The Council had advised Chancellor Palpatine of the events on Naboo and immediately recognizing the danger to the Republic, the Chancellor had dispatched teams of Jedi to investigate. At the last moment, Master Yoda had suddenly announced that the Jedi were to travel secretly and report frequently and directly to the Council. He did not explain why, but then Yoda never explained anything. 

So here Obi-Wan was, standing in a crowded transport, fussing with the collar of an uncomfortable civilian tunic. He felt exposed, stripped of the anonymity of his robe and the security of his lightsaber, tucked away and hidden in his carryall. 

It was an indignity he might have otherwise endured, but for other circumstances. Obi-Wan had slain the Sith who had slain his Master. He should have been part of the teams looking for the remaining Sith. He should have been out interrogating Trade Federation liaisons. He should have been traveling to the deep and secret places the Sith had once ruled. And what was he doing instead? Courier, Obi-Wan grumbled silently. 

The lurch of the transport brought him back. With a pang, he knew that Qui-Gon would have scolded him for his inattention to the moment, to the things that were about him now. He hauled his focus to the upcoming meeting and felt a fresh spurt of annoyance. It was not merely the humiliation of being reduced to an errand boy. It was that he had to travel through the underbelly of the galaxy to do it. Smugglers. Information brokers. They were the scourges of the universe. 

Pushing the displeasure away, Obi Wan considered what little his briefing package had told him about his contact. Clive Darrow was respectable as these peddlers went. He was always one deal away from hitting it big, but his information was worth the price paid. Wife, Cairman, had run off with another man over 15 years ago. He had one daughter, Linnayn, age 18 years, who shared most of the business with her father. 

Obi-Wan didn't understand why he had to deal with these middlemen at all. Why couldn't they just track down the original source, take the data, and extract any additional information from his mind. If there was a Sith Lord out there somewhere, he was a danger to the Jedi, and to the galaxy as a whole, Obi-Wan reasoned. They were entitled to take a few liberties. 

The Jedi Council didn't see it that way, and Obi-Wan wasn't anxious to challenge them again so soon after his insistence that he be allowed to take young Anakin Skywalker as his Padawan learner. 

He looked down at the boy at his side, and put a reassuring hand on Anakin's shoulder. Annie glanced up, looking through eyes that seemed too old for a boy of only nine. Annie was also in his civilian dress, his old clothes from Tatooine, which he seemed already to be outgrowing. He would likely grow to be a tall man. With that passing thought, Obi-Wan suddenly felt a chill move through the overcrowded transport that had nothing to do with the efficiency of the recirculated air system. A bad feeling, a dark phantom. About what? Anakin? 

Obi-Wan again chided himself. Only a few weeks ago, Qui-Gon had told him to be mindful of the future, but not at the expense of what the living Force of the moment demanded of him. And with a whine of repulsors setting the transport down, the moment now was requiring quick steps to avoid getting trampled by the crowd surging forward to the exits. He grabbed Anakin's hand, but the boy needed no urging. The exciting prospect of "undercover work" to a child's imagination had been the only thing that would have gotten this eager, young boy out of his new Jedi Apprentice duds. 

They trotted out of the ship. The air outside was fresh and damp and the sky was filled with heavy, gray clouds. Annie looked about hopefully. "Master, do you think it might rain?" 

Obi-wan pulled Annie aside, out of the crush of disembarking passengers. He understood the boy was excited. In preparing for the assignment he had told Annie that Talos was very wet this time of year, and the child had become nearly delirious with anticipation. Obi-Wan had thought it odd until remembered that Annie had grown up in an arid climate and had never seen open water, or even rain. But... 

He crouched down, looking at Annie eye to eye. They had only just begun the most rudimentary training -- such as meditation, mental concentration work, and physical exercises. Young though he was, Obi-Wan expected Anakin to be mindful even if lapses would be part of the learning process. 

"Anakin, what did I tell you before?" 

The boy's mouth formed a contrite "O." "I'm sorry Uncle Ben. I forgot." 

"And what are we doing here?" 

"We are from the Senate. We need to meet some friends of yours and then we are going home to Coruscant." 

"And does anyone know that we are Jedi?" 

Anakin fingered the edge of his sandy colored overshirt. He shook his head. 

"Very good," Ben replied. It was time to reinforce a lesson in recall. "Now can you show me where we're going?" 

*** 

Linn seethed with frustration, pushing her way again toward the counter of the bar. Much larger beings kept jostling her further from her intended goal. Although she was almost a head taller than most women, she didn't command much of a physical presence. Dar was always after her to stop slouching. Regardless, she didn't have any weight to throw around, and in a pushing match with just about anybody, or anything, she was the inevitable loser. When she had finally shoved her way to the front, the bartender's eyes had slid over her as if she wasn't there. 

She exhaled an angry breath and felt her bangs fan up on her forehead. A sinewy Twi'lek female slid in front of her, and immediately garnered the attention of the bartender and most of the other male populace. Linn grimaced, not liking the contrast. The Twi'lek had gotten service just by showing up; Linn had tried waving money around and **still** hadn't been able to get a drink. Even if I paid them, no one would notice, she thought glumly. Damn Darrow, when she finally did get to the bar, she was going to order three. 

What was she doing wrong, Linn wondered. Glancing up, she caught her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Well, let's compare Linn Darrow versus Twi'lek female, she thought caustically. The Twi'lek was sleekly outfitted in one of the dance thongs so many of her kind favored. It wasn't that she herself didn't have the shape for such a thing, Linn thought. Then again, after another look at the Twi'lek, maybe she didn't. What figure Linn did possess was obliterated by her flightsuit -- actually it was her father's flightsuit. Well, at least it *was** clean and she had actually taken the time to shorten it. She used to hem her clothing with engine tape and staples. 

The Twi'lek had elaborately decorated her headtails and sported exotic face paint. She, on the other hand, sported a pale, oval, scrubbed, and she conceded with a sigh, completely ordinary, face. There were disadvantages, Linn reflected, to being raised by a wonderful, but single father, and one of them was a shared ignorance of all things feminine. There was only one mirror on the ship, in worse condition than the chipped, smoky one behind the bar. Linn couldn't remember when she had used it for anything except as a work surface for certain cutting jobs, including trimming her own hair with a pair of nail scissors. Linn thought that if she tried decorating herself the way the Twi'lek had, even assuming she could figure out where to buy such things, she'd end up looking like the Queen of Naboo. 

Oh, this exercise was making her feel a **whole** lot better. At this rate, she'd need four drinks. 

A pushy Bothan was the final insult. When he stepped on her toes for the fourth time, Linn cut lose with an elbow to the ribs that would have done even the most brutal of smash ball players proud. She dove through the tiny space that had opened at the bar and waved a 20-cred piece around. Money would, eventually, solve all problems. 

The bartender immediately noticed her credit piece. Oh, she was sick of dives like this. "What'll it be?" he asked. 

"Two ales. Whatever's local." 

He bustled away, leaving Linn in a fit of moroseness. She knew she really shouldn't complain, but that didn't stop her. It was a pretty good life. Fun. Interesting. Dar was great. But, in a mood like today, she wondered what it would be like to have friends instead of contacts. To have a permanent home instead of a ship registry number, spaceport drop boxes, and a series of forwarding addresses to second class hotels in Core planet capital cities. 

Who was she kidding? She'd be bored within a week. Wouldn't she? 

Fortunately, the drinks arrived, halting her cheery speculation. Linn wondered whether to tip at all, and decided in favor of a generous one. The way she was feeling, she'd be back for another drink or five, and she wanted the bartender to at least remember her cash. 

*** 

Anakin was doing very well. The streets of Talos were twisted and confused, like any dusty market town. Yet, as they drew closer to the X'Kali Bar, Ben found himself becoming impatient and agitated, and couldn't stop himself from picking up the pace. 

"Is there something wrong, Ben?" Annie finally asked, huffing a bit to keep up. 

Ben made himself slow down. He took a deep breath and tried to focus, in the Force, on the source of his unease. "I don't know Annie," he finally said. "I sense something..." Ben hesitated, then suddenly grabbed Annie by the arm. "We need to hurry." 

He began jogging towards the neon sign of the bar, visible a few blocks away. Annie dutifully trotted next to him. Ben had pinpointed the feeling that permeated the area -- he had felt the same disturbance when he and Qui-Gon had entered the Trade Federation ship, and again when he had gone to Naboo. 

At the door to the bar, Ben stopped, despite the great urgency he felt. He knelt down. "Annie, I want you to stay here. If anything happens, I want you to find the nearest Senate office. Do you remember where it is?" 

Annie nodded, eyes wide. 

"And what do you tell them?" 

"That I am a Jedi apprentice and need to contact Master Windu," Anakin said. 

Ben smiled, and started to rise, only to suddenly be ripped by a pain so familiar, so recent, his knees buckled and nearly threw him to the ground. Struggling to his feet, he sensed that Anakin had said the words, "Are you alright?" but the keening thundering through him drowned out all sound. 

"Stay here," he barked at Anakin, and pushed through the door of the bar. 

He stood a moment on the landing, searching for the source of the anguish and quickly located a young woman toward the back of the bar cradling an older man in her arms. In a Jedi instant, he absorbed the details. Clive Darrow, his contact, was slumped on the floor, an enormous gash torn across the skin of his neck, eyes glassy, his spark of life in the Force gone. 

His daughter, Linnayn, cradled her dead father in her arms, rocking him, whispering things he'd never hear. With her motion, the blood oozed from Darrow's throat, soaking his daughter. Patrons stepped over and around them to get to the bar as if they were beggars in the street, a minor inconvenience interrupting their fun. 

"Who did this?" she shouted. 

She was ignored. 

Linnayn struggled to her feet. Her eyes darted around, despair rolling off her in waves. Dread rising, Ben bodily, and with the Force, pushed through the crowd, knowing what she was about to do even before she did. She pulled out her blaster. "Who did this?" she demanded again, but didn't wait for a response. 

She opened fire and the bar erupted. With a flick of the Force, Ben knocked her aim to the ceiling. The bolt hit an overhead light and exploded in a shower of sparks. The combined blast ripped into the duracrete, opening a gash to the sky. 

It was chaos, as if the hell of some ancient religion had opened up in the bar. Panicked patrons began screaming, ducking, and running to avoid the havoc raining down upon them. The anguished, hysterical voice and mind of a human woman shrieked above the din. "Who did this?" she screamed. "WHO?" 

Ben dove toward the corner of the bar from which everyone else was fleeing. 

Linnayn looked down at her misfiring blaster, and for a sickening moment, Ben thought she might turn it on herself. With a snatch of the Force, the weapon flew out of her hands. With another Force shove, he knocked her down. She fell, screaming, to the floor. 

"DAR!" Linn screamed. "Dar!" She flailed, trying to rise, but slipped on her father's blood. Ben leaped forward and reaching her, yanked her off her feet and into his arms. Before she could struggle free, he slid his palm over her face. With a whimper, she sagged against him, unconscious. 

There was no time. Still holding her against him, Ben dragged her toward her father's body. Shifting Linnayn to his side, he wrapped one arm around her, and with the other, began groping roughly through Clive Darrow's pockets. In the carnage of broken glasses, dust, and fallen ceiling, he almost missed it. On the table, Ben found a data chip cartridge. It was empty. 

Ben cast about in the Force, hoping to find some hint of the proper path. The local authorities would arrive any moment. The girl clutched to his side, and sticky with blood, had just shot up a bar. He did not sense any other deaths, but she had blasted a hole in the roof, likely wounded several beings, and endangered dozens more. 

If the Sith had returned, this was merely a preview of the suffering to come. The death had already begun on Naboo. Now, the Darrows were among the first casualties in a widening conflict, and unless he found out what had been worth the murder of an aging information broker, they would not be the last. 

The shock of the assault in the bar was beginning to wane. Sobs and moans pierced through the dusty darkness; another piece of overhead lighting fell, dragging a chunk of duracrete with it. Distantly, Ben heard the wail of sirens. It was time to collect Anakin and go. Looking down into the bloody face of Linnayn Darrow, he knew he could not let the memory of his own loss cloud the decision. But Atzerri had only the crudest of rough justice. He couldn't just abandon her to an ugly fate here, either. 

The Jedi and the Republic had sucked the Darrows into a quagmire. They bore a responsibility to these innocents. Ben headed for the back door of the bar, dragging the unconscious girl with him. 

* * * 

Even with her eyes closed Linn knew she was back aboard The Roncardi. So soothing were her rhythms and the familiar sounds of the drive's whine. Any moment Darrow would barge through the door to her cabin and demand she drag her lazy carcass out of bed. Her father hadn't died, his last words obliterated by a slashed windpipe. She hadn't opened fire on a bar full of beings, with her blaster and her rage. As long as she didn't open her eyes, none of it had happened. It was a bad dream, then, a terrible nightmare. 

But the decaying scent of blood and the sticky, tightening feel of coagulation on her face and neck told a different story. 

Oh Gods! 

"Dar!" she screamed, springing up, and then crying out. She had been restrained to her bunk. "Darroowww!" 

The door to her cabin slid open, and a man hurried in. Linn knew he was speaking. She heard the words, but could not comprehend their meaning. 

"I'm Ben," the stranger said. He didn't seem to expect an answer, but kept talking. "I'm sorry that we had to strap you to your bunk, but we just made the jump to hyperspace." She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling hot tears gushing. 

The stranger began working the restraints. He was saying something else. Something about the ship. 

Her hands free, Linn brought them up to her face, and felt the sticky dampness on her cheeks, in her hair. She began to shake uncontrollably. 

"Do you know where you are?" she heard again. 

Linn opened her eyes. "Ship?" A concerned face, a stranger's face nodded. "Our ship. Who..." she began. 

"I'm Ben Kenobi." 

"Ben?" she repeated. It seemed somehow remotely familiar. 

Linn tried rolling over, curling into the corner of her bunk. But the stranger was making her stand, pulling her up. He supported her stagger across the cabin to the head. He managed to hold her up with one arm, and push the door open with the other, without a loss of momentum. Linn felt she was being eased down until she was sitting in the tiny shower stall. 

"Linnayn, I'm going to try to clean you. Do you understand?" she heard someone say. 

She allowed her arms to be raised over her head unresisting. She felt something pull the shoes off her feet and felt her outer clothing slide off. As if disembodied she saw a flightsuit on the floor. It looked liked one of Dar's, but it couldn't be. It was covered with blood. 

Hysterical sobs began deep in her gut, and then abruptly she had to choke on them when a stream of warm water hit her body. Someone was kneeling before her. He had a wet cloth and was rubbing it on her face. She saw a raised arm. Was it hers? Or someone else's? Liquid was dribbling off of the arm, and it looked like water, except it was very red. It dripped on the floor. 

She felt water running through her hair, and down her back. Everywhere she looked, there was pink watery fluid, splashing down her body, puddling at her feet. 

It seemed that she stumbled out of the head, into a robe, and then back into her bunk. There was an arm and a face helping her. Ben? Was that his name? 

Linn opened her eyes and the stranger was still there. He was holding something. A glass. He was still talking, and this time, she could understand him. 

"We are going to sit in space for a few days, Linn. I want you to take this." 

She spat at the bitter tasting pill, but could not resist swallowing it. "I wish I was dead," Linn thought she said. 

Ben nodded. "I know. But you aren't. Annie or I will be here with you all the time." 

Annie? Who was Annie? 

"When you're ready, we will be here," she heard Ben say. "'I'm sorry your father's dead, Linn." She believed him. He was sorry. She drifted into oblivion, hearing him say, "I will need your help if we are to find out who did it." 

* * * 

When Ben left Linn, Annie was waiting for him. "Will she be alright?" the little boy asked. 

"I hope so," Ben said. "I want you to stay in her room right now. Practice your meditation and if she wakes up, call me right away." 

Annie nodded. Stretching a bit, he reached the pushplate to Linnayn's cabin, and when it opened, slipped into the room. 

Ben went up to the cockpit. Based on the backgrounder, he had known which ship belonged to the Darrows and had been able to retreat there with Annie and Linn. There had been some problems at the spaceport and he'd had to nudge a few minds to get the hurried clearance to leave. Once they cleared Atzerri's gravity well, Ben wondered where they should go. Clive Darrow's most recent stops? Former Trade Federation space? In the end, he did, with some distaste, what all smugglers and other low lifes did. The coordinates were already in the navicomputer, and Ben had the ship jump the short distance to one of its former captain's favorite bolt holes. A big place in space with absolutely nothing in it. A safe place to wait things out. 

Now, it was time to report. The ship had a decent holo exchange array for a real time communication. The link flickered to life and Obi-Wan bowed before the image of Master Windu. 

This Master was not a man with whom one exchanged pleasantries. "We are pleased to have you report so promptly," Mace intoned. Obi-Wan thought privately that he was never sure if Mace Windu was actually speaking for the Council, or had merely assumed a royal we as a habit of speech. "Have you met with Darrow?" 

"Unfortunately, no, my Master." Before those famous chiseled eyebrows could rise off his head, Obi-Wan swiftly continued. "By the time I arrived at the contact point, Clive Darrow was dead. He was murdered. I found an empty data cartridge tape on his body." 

Mace templed his fingers. It was his all-purpose gesture, whether he used it when delivering a well-rehearsed reprimand, or simply to stall for time. "I see," his Master finally said. "Where are you now?" 

Obi-Wan took a breath. Here was where his actions would be judged. "Darrow's daughter discovered her father's body. She became hysterical and began shooting up the bar. I was able to deflect the blaster bolts, but there were extensive damage and injuries. I disarmed her and placed her in a trance. Anakin and I brought her to her father's ship. I was able to avoid serious questioning at the spaceport and we successfully escaped the system. I have sedated Linnayn Darrow and we are currently sitting in dead space in the Atzerri sector." 

If Mace was surprised, he gave no sign. But he also waited a long time before saying anything. Obi-Wan was hard pressed to avoid fidgeting. 

"We might say that you have made a detour, young Obi-Wan. Please explain your actions." 

"I had hoped to learn what was on the stolen disk. I have searched ship records and although there are detailed logs of where the Darrows have been and with whom they have met, I could locate no record of what Darrow actually learned." 

"What of the daughter?" Mace asked and Obi-Wan was relieved. Master Windu was clearly following the same thread Obi-Wan had. 

"We know that the daughter was her father's partner. When she awakens and stabilizes, I intend to question her. If she does not know what was on the disk, my hope is that she will be able to reconstruct the data. It is important that the attempt be made. Someone murdered Clive Darrow to prevent us from learning of it." 

Mace again templed his fingers. Obi-Wan had the impression he was consulting with someone else he could not see. Maybe Master Yoda or Ki-Adi-Mundi was listening as well. 

"We agree with your decision, Obi-Wan." 

He bowed. Obi-Wan had thought they would, but was nevertheless relieved. 

"Secure this woman's cooperation, Obi-Wan." Mace said. "Protect her. If she knows, or can learn what her father did, she must be shielded until we learn of it too." 

"I understand." There was a point that had been bothering him, a potential deception. "Master Yoda instructed that we should not reveal ourselves as Jedi. Does the Council still wish this under the circumstances?" 

Again, Obi-Wan felt that Mace was consulting with someone else off screen. Finally, the Master spoke. "You are on the fringe of Republic law, Obi-Wan. This journey may take you places where Jedi are greeted with suspicion. Even the daughter may not welcome Jedi involvement. It is our opinion that you and your Padawan continue as you have." 

"Yes, Master. Thank you." He bowed again, preparing to end the transmission. 

Mace suddenly interrupted. An idea had occurred to someone, Obi-Wan thought. "The Darrow girl has just lost her father." His Master paused, making sure that he had Obi-Wan's full attention. "We believe that your own recent experiences will be useful in securing her trust and cooperation." 

"I understand, Master." Or at least, he thought he did. 

"May the Force be with you." 

* * * 

Linn didn't know how many days and nights passed. She would sleep, wake up screaming, vomit even the bile in her stomach, and then collapse again. Images burned in her eyes. Whether opened or closed, all she saw was blood. All she heard were screams. 

She might have killed herself, but she couldn't have gotten to her blaster without tripping over the person who was always sitting on the deck. Whenever she was conscious, someone was in her cabin. Food and drink would appear. The food made her nauseous, but she would drink thirstily, only to spew it again the next time she woke. 

The pain didn't dull or diminish. But, gradually, it receded to other emotions and desires, foremost among them, the raging need to know who had murdered her father, and why. She wanted someone to suffer. And lying on her back waiting for the Republic to fall would not bring her any closer to that goal. 

She turned her head, and rolled over. A young boy was sitting on the floor with his eyes closed. Was he asleep? Unbidden, his eyes suddenly flew open. As if it were the most natural thing in the galaxy, he simply said, "Hi." 

"Hello," Linn managed. 

"I'm Anakin. But people call me Annie." 

Linn felt herself smile despite herself. He was adorable. "It's nice to meet you Annie. I'm Linn." 

He nodded vigorously. "I know." 

"What are you doing in my room, Annie?" 

The question did not fluster him at all. "I've been meditating," he replied, as if the answer were obvious. 

The door slid open. A man who seemed vaguely familiar strode in. He was carrying a tray. "I see that my timing is very good," he said easily. "Annie, why don't you go into the main cabin. I would like to speak to Mistress Darrow." 

Annie climbed to his feet. He came forward to her bunk, looking very earnest. "I'm glad you're feeling better, Linn. Ben and I have been very worried about you." 

Ben. That's whom the other man was, Linn remembered, as Annie turned and walked out. The door slid shut behind him. 

Ben set the tray down. "I see that Anakin has made his introduction." He bowed slightly, very formally. "I'm Ben Kenobi, Mistress Darrow." 

It all seemed rather incongruous. "It's Linn," she interrupted impatiently. "You were our contact. What are you doing on our ship? And where are we?" She tried to roll out of her bunk to stand, but a wave of nausea struck her as soon as her feet hit the deck. With a slight groan, she fell back, feeling very weak, and rather ridiculous. 

He crossed the cabin and handed her a cup from the tray. There was some sort of clear, hot liquid in it. "We're sitting in the middle of the Atzerri system. It's been three days since we left Talos Spaceport." Ben snagged her desk chair, set it in the middle of the floor, and sat. "You should drink that. You've had nothing in that time, and you are very weak." 

"So, you're a medic?" she responded with sarcasm, but no real energy behind it. She did begin sipping the liquid. It was wonderful. 

"No," he replied seriously. "I am the courier your father was supposed to be meeting." Ben leaned forward, so sincere, she felt her throat tighten. "I am very sorry about your father, Linn." 

She forced away the tears that immediately welled in her eyes. Linn knew it would be a long time before she would be able to think of her father and not weep. 

"He was dead, wasn't he?" she asked, already knowing the answer. 

Ben nodded. "When I arrived, he was dead. You were shooting in the bar." 

She rubbed her eyes. It all seemed so dim and dreamy, as if it were a daylight nightmare that had not really occurred. "What happened?" 

"You don't remember?" 

"I came back from the bar with our drinks. I saw the..." she choked back tears, "... the blood. I guess I started shooting." She shook her head, trying to banish even the murky memories and screams. "I don't remember anything after that." 

"You fainted," Ben said simply. "Annie and I brought you here. I thought it would be wise to avoid any entanglements with the Atzerri authorities." 

Linn nodded gratefully, knowing what passed for Atzerrian law enforcement. She stared at him, trying to fathom why a courier would risk himself and his boy to save her. She failed. "Why? Who exactly are you?" 

He leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "I am an aide to the Senate Council investigating the Federation's blockade." 

Linn saw one part of the puzzle fall into place. "You hired my father." 

"Yes. Your father said he had found an intercepted transmission to the Federation when they were orbiting Naboo." 

"He had a data cartridge in the bar," Linn suddenly remembered. "I asked him about it, but he wouldn't tell me what was on it." 

Ben paused, and looked at her significantly. It seemed his shoulders sagged slightly. "I came to collect that transmission from him. But when I found you, he was dead and the disk was gone." 

"Gone?" Linn's mind was whirling. Information brokers usually lived and worked at the edge of a very gray, blurry line. But killing for something her father had found simply staggered her. What had he uncovered? How could it have been so important? 

Echoing her thoughts, Ben continued, "If we learn what was on the disk, we might learn who killed your father. Do you know where he obtained it?" 

Again tears smarted in her eyes. "Probably from Sly Gawron." 

The name obviously meant nothing to a senatorial aide. "And he is?" 

"A blockade runner. Sly freelances for a bunch of smugglers, mostly out of Coronet. That was our last port before we came here, and before we left, Dar had me transfer 5,000 credits to him." 

Ben turned his hands over in his lap. "And he might know what was on the disk." 

Linn unfolded her legs, prepared to slide out of the bunk and send The Roncardi hurling toward Corellia. The floor didn't rock as it had before, but she was only wearing her underwear and a bathrobe. Chagrined, she drew herself back into the bunk as Ben stood up hurriedly. She wrapped a blanket about herself. 

"I'll leave you alone to dress. Eat something. Take your time." Annie and I will be in the main cabin. When you are ready, we can set a course for Corellia." 

She nodded. As he turned on his heel, Linn called out. "Ben?" 

He slowly pivoted to face her. "Thank you," Linn said, feeling genuine gratitude. "For everything." 

"You are welcome. I am very sorry for your loss." He glanced down, studying his hands intently. "I know that it is no consolation to you, but I do understand what this feels like." 

The snide rejoinder that he couldn't possibly understand didn't make it out. Ben seemed so sorrowful, so sincere, that instead of anger, she felt something else entirely. Compassion. Empathy. "What do you mean?" 

Ben swallowed, opened his mouth, then as quickly, seemed to reconsider. "I'm sorry, Linn. Maybe later. Your ordeal has made me relive something very similar, and I am really not prepared to speak of it yet." 

With that extraordinary statement, he pivoted again and left. 

* * * 

A jump to Coronet had never lasted so long. Linn rolled over in her bunk to stare at a different section of hull plating. She had memorized every nick, every minute scratch. Long days, longer nights. 

Most of the time, she had just wandered about, in a daze, watching the chron tick minutes by in her dark cabin. She tried to rally, tried to find something to sustain her, but even the anger and desire for revenge had faded into a mire of grief. 

She had hardly seen her two traveling companions. She and Ben overlapped a few hours each day when they traded shifts. Mostly, though, Ben and Annie kept to themselves as much as she did. They seemed to spend a lot of time in The Roncardi's smallish cargo hold. She and Dar had trafficked in information, not goods, and that had never required much in the way of storage space. Ben and Annie, however, seemed to be making good use of it. Twice, she saw them emerge, shining with sweat, and Ben at least, looking a bit the worse for the wear. 

When she had asked about their activities, Ben had merely shrugged. "Exercising. Space travel is bad for physical conditioning." 

The chron had ticked another whole ten minutes off. Linn gave up and heaved herself out of the bunk. She would be relieving Ben in another few hours, and a few more after that, they would be breaking orbit in Corellia, late afternoon, local time. She dressed in the barely lit pit that her cabin had become, pulling on another of Dar's old suits. It was another piece of him she simply couldn't give up. 

Would tracking down another copy of that disk really make a difference? Linn didn't think so. Dar was dead, gone. Helping the people indirectly responsible for his death wouldn't bring him back. 

Her eyes smarted when she stepped into the bright ship corridor. Listening, she caught wisps of Ben's carefully measured voice, and Annie's higher pitched one from the main cabin. 

"Hi, Linn!" Annie exclaimed as she entered the cabin. He **had** been the single bright point in the dismal trip -- a supercharged hyperdrive of enthusiasm for absolutely everything. 

"You aren't on for another three hours," Ben commented. 

"Couldn't sleep," Linn muttered, making her way to the galley. She had been living on caf in her daylight hours and distilled spirits in the evening. She vaguely sensed Ben's disapproval, but didn't care. She'd let them find their own passage back to Coruscant from Coronet and she'd make her way to wherever with Dar's ship. **My** ship, she suddenly comprehended. Perhaps right into a supernova. 

"Ben's been telling me about Corellia," Annie gushed. "Have you been there before, Linn?" 

She nodded, not quite able to maintain her dower mood around such a ray of good humor. "Many times." 

Annie's eyes were wide as moons. The words came out in a tumbled rush. "Can I see a Selonian or a Drall? Will we get to meet some? Are there really Treasure Ships on the row? Ben says the stardocks are **huge!**" 

Ben held out his hands in an "It's not my fault" expression. 

Linn crossed the cabin, feeling lighter in heart. She blew on her drink, and sat next to Annie. "You will probably see a Selonian or a Drall. If you do, you must be very polite to them." 

"Why? Are they dangerous?" Annie clearly hoped they were. 

"Selonians are very competent fighters. Dralls are very dignified. You should be careful not to offend either of them." 

"Oh, I won't." 

Linn could not help herself. She reached out and tousled Annie's rumbled blond head. "I'm sure you won't." 

"It's time for bed, Annie." 

Annie visibly wilted with Ben's order. "But I want to stay up and learn more about..." 

Ben's next command was sterner. "Annie, what have we learned about patience?" 

Anakin seemed to consider this for a moment before taking another tact. "Could you tell me a bedtime story, Linn?" Annie asked suddenly. 

"Now Annie," and this time, Ben's tone was demanding obedience. "Linn..." 

"No, it's alright, Ben," Linn injected impulsively. She stood and held out her hand. "I'll tell you about the Boiling Sea on Drall." 

Annie gave Ben a triumphant look and tugged on Linn's hand. "Hurry!" 

The boy was stumbling a bit in his nightwear -- one of Dar's old shirts. In fact, they were all wearing Dar's clothing. Linn didn't have anything else, and Ben and Annie had not anticipated that they would be returning to Coruscant from Atzerri via Corellia. 

Without prompting, Annie brushed his teeth and climbed into his bunk. Linn helped him pull the blankets about him. "Move over, Annie," she asked. The boy scooted to the side, and Linn rested her hip on the corner of his bed. He lay back against the pillow and shut his eyes. 

"Does the sea really boil?" Annie asked. 

"During the hot season, in the summer, yes, it does. Because it is so warm, many small plants grow in the water. The air is filled with beautiful birds, called ibbots who eat the plants. They have nests all along the shore. When I was about your age, I would look for the hatchlings when...." Her throat closed so tightly, Linn could not finish. "I'm sorry, Annie," she stammered. 

He opened his eyes. In a gesture that was at once, childlike in its innocent sincerity and oddly mature, Annie leaned forward to hold her hands in his own. "We're all sad. I'm sad sometimes. And Ben is sad too." 

With the earnest, compassionate expression, Linn was able to smile wanly. "Why are you sad, Annie?" 

"I miss my mom. She's still on Tatooine. And I miss Padme." 

"Padme?" 

He nodded. "We had to leave her on Naboo." 

"Naboo?" Linn exclaimed, completely shocked. "When were you on Naboo?" 

Annie gave her one of those "Where have **you** been" looks that only children could so perfect. "During the battle, of course." 

She had surmised that Annie was Ben's ward, and was apprenticed to the Senate Council he worked for. But this... "What were you doing in the middle of an insurrection?" 

"I was with Ben and Qui-Gon." 

"Qui-Gon?" 

Anakin nodded again. "Ben was apprenticed to Qui-Gon the same way I am to him." 

Linn had been wondering for days what Ben had meant about a reliving a recent loss of his own. She suddenly had a horrible suspicion. "Is Qui-Gon why Ben is sad?" 

Annie's sudden solemnity confirmed it. The boy hesitated, then nodded. "He was killed on Naboo." 

Linn didn't feel comfortable with this. She was tempted to extract more information from a very voluble Anakin. But, she halted the questioning. If she wanted to know more, she should ask Ben outright, and not try a smuggler's run around it by interrogating a little boy. 

On an impulse, she leaned forward and kissed Annie on the cheek. "We have a big day tomorrow. There will be lots of new things to see. You'll see one of the largest shipyards in the galaxy. We'll be staying in a hotel and eating in restaurants. But if you don't get your rest you'll sleep through it all." 

"Okay, Linn," Annie said, settling back with a sigh. Through a yawn, he mouthed, "Don't be sad." 

"I'll try, Annie." She smoothed the hair away from his forehead. A few minutes later, she heard the heavy breathing of a child in a deep sleep. 

In the short trip from Annie's bedside to the main cabin, Linn had enough time to begin seething over a story only half-told. When she burst into cabin, Ben jumped up from his seat still clutching the datapad he had been studying before. 

"What?" he asked sharply, eyeing her warily. 

"You didn't tell me you had been on Naboo," she accused stalking toward him. 

His eyes rose in surprise, then as quickly fell. "Oh, I see. Annie has been chatting." 

Linn was not dissuaded. "What were you doing there?" 

She sensed that he was choosing words carefully. "Helping Queen Amidala retake the planet from the Trade Federation." 

"And?" 

Ben seemed to shift uncomfortably. Linn moved closer, crowding him. "You know the story," he began. "The Naboo took out the droid control ship, Queen Amidala captured the Viceroy..." 

"That's not what I mean, Ben." She took another step to him. 

Ben stepped out of her way, putting the modular table between them. "Then, I don't know what you mean." 

She pursued him, and Ben circled, still a table apart. "There's more you aren't telling me." 

"Linn, please. Drop this." He held up the datapad as if it would ward off her advance. "I don't want to discuss it." 

"And I do." She had heard real despair in his voice and pressed harder. "We land in Coronet in a few hours, Ben. You should tell me if you've got a personal interest in this." 

"There's nothing else that concerns you, Linn." He spoke too quickly to be believed. 

"I'll be the judge of that." For someone who had seemed so distant and in command of himself, it seemed that Ben's self-control was obviously slipping with very little provocation. 

Linn paused, letting the tension build, then dropped softly. "Who was Qui-Gon, Ben?" 

A thermal detonator would have been more subtle. The datapad clattered to the deck. Ben went white. "Annie told you?" he gasped. 

Linn nodded, moving around the table to face him. He glanced away from her, avoiding her gaze, maybe looking for where that poised reserve he wrapped himself in had gone with the mention of a name. 

Ben said very quietly, "Don't do this Linn, please." 

She wavered, almost. He was obviously devastated. But, so was she and her resolve hardened. Linn backed him to the cabin wall. "Ben, I'm entitled to know if I'm going to help you. My father was murdered over something having to do with Naboo." 

His back contacted the bulkhead, and Ben stopped running. He slid down the wall to the deck and buried his face in his hands. 

"Mine was too," Ben finally heaved. 

Linn fought the urge to run screaming for the safety of the airlock. Of all the grotesque cosmic jokes, this had to take it. Dar had always said the universe had a sense of humor. She crouched next to him on the deck, hands on her knees. "Qui-Gon was your father?" she managed to push out of a throat that had gone dry. 

His restraint had given way to anguish. "I never knew my family. I lived with Qui-Gon most of my life. He was like a father." 

When he stopped, Linn waited, then finally prompted him. "And?" 

"He was murdered on Naboo during the fighting. I watched it happen." Ben swallowed hard before he could continue. "I held him while he died." 

The confession brought Linn back horribly to when she had found Dar just in time for his life to bleed out all over her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the image. When she found the courage to look at him again, Ben's head was down and his shoulders shook silently, hands gripping his knees so hard his knuckles were white. Linn shifted in her crouch, clasping her hands in front of her as his pain reverberated back through her. "I'm sorry, Ben," was all she was able to say. 

"I know you are," he whispered, looking up at her. "Thousands died on Naboo." Ben's voice broke as he added, "Not just Qui-Gon. We are looking all over the galaxy for why." 

She pulled her hands through her hair, cursing silently. "And my father found something so important it was worth murdering him to keep you from getting it." 

Ben nodded. 

"And you think the same party is responsible for your father's death and everything else that happened on Naboo?" 

He nodded again then dropped his head down. "Linn, I know what this must do to you. If there was anyone else who could help us, I'd have you drop us anywhere and leave you to grieve in peace." 

She heard the desperation. It wasn't merely the Senate who was pleading, but someone who had been deeply hurt -- someone who had been wounded as she had. 

Linn hesitantly bent toward him, and placed her hands gently over his, a fair imitation of Annie's own impulsive compassion. All her doubts about whether that would make a difference seemed to drain away in the face of his consuming grief. A grief she understood and shared. "We'll find that disk," she promised. 

Continued in Chapter 2


	2. Three Credits in the Fountain

By Gheorghe2 and ginef

CHAPTER TWO - "Three Credits in the Fountain" 

"I still think that I should go with you," Ben insisted, again. 

And again, Linn beat back the gesture that was as well intentioned as it was stupid. "Forget it, Ben. There are only three things you can do for me, and none of them involve helping me find Sly." 

"And what are those?" 

Linn tilted her head in the direction of a very anxious Annie waiting at the bottom of The Ron's ramp. From the moment they had broken orbit, the boy had chattered as incessantly as a protocol droid. Their landing clearance had taken several hours in Coronet's crowded skies. Having finally hit dirtside, Annie wanted to see something new. **Now.** 

The corner of Ben's mouth twitched, signaling amusement and comprehension. 

"Second, go to the hotel, and get our rooms." 

Ben nodded. "And the third?" 

"Tell me what my credit line is." 

He blinked in astonishment, apparently dumbfounded. 

Linn snorted. "To get information, I am going to have to pay for it," she intoned in the voice of the very wise instructing the very naive. "To do that, I'll need a line of Republic credits." 

It seemed to Linn that this fundamental fact had never even occurred to Ben. 

"Well," he stammered, finally recovering. "Do you have to pay the sellers immediately?" 

Linn couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Information is a cash on delivery only business." 

"Oh." Hesitantly, Ben drew a Republic transfer card from a pocket. "There's a 20,000 balance here." 

Linn arched an eyebrow. "I'll try not to spend it all." 

She made sure that Ben and Annie were on the right transport into Coronet, then headed to her first stop -- the sprawling Coronet Spaceport Headquarters. She paid her docking fees for two days -- every spacer knew you never tried to jump Corellia without settling all accounts with the HQ first. Because it wasn't unusual for spacers to depart Coronet in someone's blaster sights, paying in advance was always the safer course. The HQ, recognizing the economic realities of its desperate clientele, did not grant refunds. 

The credit card was useful in the HQ records center as well. 

"Here are the data disks you requested, Mistress." The protocol droid splayed the cards on the console and took Linn's credit card. 

HQ charged exorbitant fees by the minute for searches of the ships berthed at the spacedock. She knew that Sly's CEC freighter, Rimrunner, had been docked at Coronet less than a week earlier. Linn didn't think the search would take long. 

And it didn't. "Excuse me," she called before the droid retreated to its workstation. 

The droid minced back. "How may I serve?" 

"What does this mean?" Linn asked, pointing at the screen. 

The droid studied the flashing screen. "This ship is under interdiction," the droid announced. "By order of the Corellian Security Forces." 

* * * 

"CorSec?" Over the comm link, Ben sounded astonished. 

"It could mean nothing," she began, not wholly believing it. "But, I'll know more after my meeting." 

"Meeting?" Ben said, in a fair approximation of an echo. 

"Dar had a snitch inside CorSec. I'm meeting her in an hour. I'm afraid this is going to cost us." She was not speaking metaphorically. 

There was so long a pause at the other end of the link, Linn wondered if the very proper senatorial aide was packing up his bag and his ward, and getting off planet before she further sullied his reputation. 

"I have a bad feeling about this, Linn." 

Sure. Whatever. She switched him off. 

* * * 

Renka Newan might have been related to a Gamorrean. Her black little beady eyes stared out of fleshy cheeks. She had a habit of grunting rather than communicating in complete sentences. Linn had, concededly, never seen her drool. 

The CorSec administrative assistant had been very useful to Dar over the years. She had consistently and persistently assumed that his attentions to her stemmed from ardent passion, which she returned in odious good measure. About only two things was she more passionate: her obsessive pursuit of cash, and her visceral hatred of her CorSec supervisor, who had also spurned her aggressive advances. As they so often were, she was a horrid person, and an excellent, if expensive, snitch. 

The only thing worse than Renka in love was Renka in tears. She was wailing. Linn tried to wave down a server droid to bring the distraught woman a drink. Even the droid, however, ignored her. 

"I caaaan't believe that lovely man is gonnnne." Adding to the Gamorean imagery, Renka's enormous bosom heaved, nearly upsetting the cantina table she shared with Linn. 

Renka's grotesque display of grief was sufficient incentive for Linn to keep her own manner calm. "I am sorry for your loss, Renka. I know that he meant a lot to you," she lied. "You were very important to him, too." 

The woman blew her nose loudly into her sleeve. "I'll do anything to help you, Linn, dear. Anything so that we can punish whoever killed poor Dar." 

Even if she didn't think Renka was up to the role of the avenger, Linn did appreciate the sentiment. And the offer. "I need to know about Sly Gawron," she began. "Where is he and why did CorSec interdict his ship?" 

Linn should have been more alert. For all the wailing, Renka's mercurial eye had remained quite clear. "Well, you know, dear," Renka sobbed, "even the dead cost money on Corellia." 

* * * 

When she left the bar 30 minutes later, the Republic was 3,000 credits poorer and not much wiser. Linn felt that she had been gutted and trussed in a Gamorrean hunting ritual. Being taken by a greedy CorSec slime had that effect on a person. 

She buzzed Ben on the comlink. With the prompt, "Yes?" she surmised he had been waiting and might have been considering sending out the troops to apprehend the broker who made off with his 20,000 credits. 

"Do you want the good news, or the bad news," Linn said heavily. 

Maybe her somber tone clued him in. "Good news, please." 

"I found out why Sly's ship is locked down tighter than a Toydarian's purse." 

"Why?" the disembodied voice of Ben asked. 

"That's the bad news. Sly was found dead two days after Dar and I left Coronet. His throat was cut." 

* * * 

When she and Dar had stayed at this hotel before, the tinkling of the courtyard fountain had always been soothing. This time, as Linn lay in bed trying to sleep, the repetitive drip timed to electronically themed music seemed more calculated to drive her out of her mind. 

Gods, she missed Dar. He wouldn't have been taken by that ploy of Renka's. And he'd know what to do next. Try to get into Sly's ship? Find out what CorSec knows? Look for Sly's buddies? A thousand questions, and no answers. As the moons rose, she tried first breathing, then pacing the confines of her room, with the rhythm of the spouting, multimedia geyser outside her window. 

It was hopeless. And time to take matters into her own hands. She dressed again, grabbed her multitool, and headed downstairs. In the interest of her sanity, and the desperate hope of a few hours of sleep, the other hotel patrons could do without the musical water show for a night. 

She snuck through the deserted hotel lobby and slipped outside to the patio. There, she saw that someone else had had the same idea. 

"Ben," she scolded. "There's probably an easier way to turn it off." 

He didn't seem at all surprised to see her. "Well, then don't just stand there. Make yourself useful and find it before I short out the entire hotel." 

Ben looked ridiculous. He was standing in the middle of the pool, with pants rolled up to his knees and stringing wire out of a small control box in the fountain's central column. He ducked as a spray of water arced over his head. Sparks flew under his hands, and Linn heard a soft exclamation. 

"Are you okay?" she asked, circling the fountain. 

"Fine," Ben grumbled. "This isn't the first time." 

Spying a likely candidate, Linn stooped down and turned a knob at in the fountain's base. With a faint gurgle, a spurt of water died in mid arc and the musical track stopped. The pulsating lights dimmed to a few simple, yellow lamps embedded in the fountain's pool. Refracted through the water, the lamps softly lit the area, wavering and throwing shadows across the courtyard. 

Ben waded through the fountain to her and Linn offered him a hand as he climbed out. 

"And the sentients rejoiced," Linn commented wryly, setting herself down on the fountain's edge. 

"I certainly will." Ben flicked the water from his feet and with a distasteful grimace, squeezed into his shoes. "It's hard enough to sleep without the water torture test." He glanced up. "And this was your favorite place?" 

Linn nodded, feeling a pall settle on what had been a lighter mood. 

Apparently seeing her droop, Ben quickly apologized. "That was callous of me. I'm sorry, Linn," he said brushing out the fabric bunched up at his knees. 

Linn reached over and smoothed an errant edge. She shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Thanks to your valiant display of mechanical ineptness, I haven't thought about Dar for almost five minutes." 

"I am glad then to have helped." He pulled his legs up under him into a more comfortable position facing her. "Was thinking about what to do next keeping you awake?" 

Linn nodded. "I had been wondering what Dar would do." 

With mild censure in his tone, Ben said, "I still can't believe that you bribed a CorSec officer." 

She dipped her fingers in the fountain and began making wet prints on the ledge. "Can't believe that I bribed someone, or can't believe that a CorSec officer was that easily bought?" 

"Both." 

"I'm not a good enough slicer to hack into CorSec and I wasn't going to try breaking into an interdicted ship." Linn's thumbprints were forming the shape of a petaled flower. She dipped her hand in again, and began on the stem. "Cash was the best way. I'm not a mindreader." 

"No, I suppose you aren't." 

Hearing a strange tone to Ben's voice, Linn glanced up, but he was only watching her prints on the ledge. 

"So what have you decided?" Ben finally asked. 

Her artwork complete, Linn sighed. "I hadn't. But in mulling it over now, I think the best plan is to get an early start tomorrow and track down Rog Hoff." 

"Who?" 

"One of Sly's pals. If anyone knows what he was up to, it'd be Rog." 

Ben nodded. "I'll come with you this time," he announced flatly. 

"Think you can do better than I could? Or just worried about what I'll do with your credit card?" 

Ben frowned at her too-casual flippancy. "Sly is dead. It could be dangerous." 

Linn shook her head. "I appreciate the concern, and if this gets nastier, I promise I'll reconsider." Not that she thought that Ben would be all that intimidating. "Besides, there's no risk where I'm going. Whoever did it has long since cleared from here and none of Sly's cohorts would have murdered him. He was too good a smuggler." 

Ben made a disgusted "humph" sound -- clearly the aide was not accustomed to the peculiar morality of the fringe. 

"Maybe you and Annie can lay in supplies for The Ron tomorrow. If I get some news, we'll want to leave in a hurry." 

Ben nodded reluctantly. 

"You and Annie can probably squeeze some sightseeing in, too." 

With that invitation, Ben smiled fondly. "I thought he was going to overload a circuit when he saw the Selonian at dinner." 

"Did you finally get him to sleep?" Linn asked, recalling Annie's buoyant enthusiasm. 

Ben nodded. "Hours ago." He paused, as if calculating. "Or, well, it seems like hours ago." 

Linn propped her arms behind her, and tilted back to look at the sky. Ships zagged between the stars, leaving long tails of light in their wakes. She finally commented, "Nights are the hardest aren't they?" 

A long moment beat by before Ben conceded, "I don't have anything to keep me occupied. So, I relive it over and over again." 

"And wonder what you could have done differently," Linn concluded. She suddenly felt raw and battered, as if propping herself up for a normal conversation drained her of every spark of energy. 

"I knew Qui-Gon was tiring," Ben said quietly. "But I couldn't reach him in time." 

"Ben," Linn pleaded, leaning in to curl her fingers around his arm. "I'm sure you did everything you could. You aren't to blame." 

"And you don't wonder every day how it might have been different if you hadn't taken so long to get a drink at the bar?" There was no accusation in Ben's voice, only sorrow. 

Linn released her grip on Ben's arm. "Every day? Every minute I wish that I had been there. I know that it isn't my fault..." 

She faltered, and Ben finished the thought. "But we can't forgive ourselves for not being there when they needed us." 

Linn nodded. The hollowness she heard in Ben's voice echoed within her when he said, "We shouldn't feel guilty." 

"You'll have to sound more convincing than that, Ben, before I'll believe you." 

That earned her a wry smile. He shifted on the fountain's edge, brought his arms around his knees and seemed to take sudden interest in his hands. "What is it?" she asked. 

Ben proffered his right hand. His fingertips were black with char. She winced. "Ouch. Are you okay? Do you want me to get a med kit?" 

He shook his head. "No, it doesn't really hurt." Ben trailed off, a pained expression on his face. 

"At least there," Linn finished. 

"It's just that I've always had a problem with burning things out, leaving lights on, forgetting to turn things off. I was thinking what Qui-Gon would have said." 

"That you're a sentient and everyone makes mistakes?" 

He snorted gently. "More likely that I was too reckless and impatient. That I wasn't paying attention to the liv..." He stopped and seemed to correct himself. "To the little things. I always had my attention somewhere else than where it was supposed to be." 

Linn could not see the basis for the criticism. "You don't seem like that to me at all." 

Ben shrugged. "It's all relative I suppose. Qui-Gon and I would be out together on a mission for the Senate, and he would always find something else that seemed more important. And it usually was. I never had the insight to understand what he was doing." 

"Dar would do that too," Linn exclaimed. "Although," she added, "when you are an information broker, following those detours is how you make a living. But, it could try the patience of a Jedi." 

"That bad?" Ben commented dryly. 

Linn nodded as the memories flooded back. "Still, Dar's instincts were always the right ones. He'd get things no one else could from the most unlikely and pathetic of sources." 

"I think Qui-Gon and Darrow might have gotten along quite well," Ben said. "He could just be infuriating." 

"And we loved them in spite of it," Linn managed. 

"Yes." Ben leaned over and dipped his hand into the fountain. Swirling his fingers in the water, the char on them flaked away. "What do you do when you can't cry for them anymore?" 

In Ben's voice, she heard pain as fresh as she own. Pangs of grief gushed through her. "I don't know," she gasped. "I still am." Linn turned her head away. Tears burned in her eyes and fell into the water, around the fountain's ledge, and on to Ben's sleeve. 

Ben's head snapped up. "You're crying." 

"I'm sorry." Linn sniffed loudly and wiped her cuff across her face. "I just miss him so much." 

Ben raised his hand. She felt his damp fingers on her face, the cool water of the fountain mingling with her hot tears. The anguish paralyzed her. 

"I miss my Mas-- Qui-Gon too," Ben whispered. "You shouldn't be ashamed of your grief." 

Linn bit on her lip, trying to still the trembling. "I still see Darrow. He's in a dark corner, around a turn, just out of my line of sight. Whenever I drop something, I hear him laughing. When I call up sources on a datapad, I hear him comment on how much they charge. I have to catch myself to keep from pouring him a drink when I get one." Her voice hiked, hysteria rising. "Is that crazy?" 

"No." She felt Ben's fingers, first one hand, then both begin tracing her face where the tears had run. Soothing. Somehow, she felt her panic ebb. "I know exactly what you mean," he said softly. 

Words were sticking in her throat, getting lost somewhere under Ben's touch. "You do?" she managed to stammer. 

"Qui-Gon is always with me. I hear him all the time." 

Almost without volition, Linn's hands rose to Ben's face. She wanted to capture the strange, innocent marveling that had settled there. "What does he say?" 

It seemed as if his eyes briefly went out of focus, as if he looked away or inward. "He encourages me," Ben finally said. His eyes closed as she moved her fingers along his jaw. The next words were ragged. "He helps me." 

Linn felt the warmth of self-conscious embarrassment rise. What was she doing? She wanted to run away, but where could she go? She was utterly alone, except for this almost stranger who had as little as she and had lost as much. She brushed her fingers across Ben's closed eyes. "Is he talking to you now?" 

He nodded. 

Linn slid her hands up his shoulders. Ben's eyes flickered open. She half expected him to push her away, but then took in his expression -- discovery, surprise, and maybe even... fear? He was pulling her closer even as she drew him to her. "What is he saying?" she whispered. 

"Live in the moment." 

Their first kiss was hesitant, an uncertain touching, lip to lip that still made her head swim. Linn wrapped her fingers about his neck, instinctively looking for something more. 

Ben's yelp of pain so startled her, she snapped back and almost fell into the fountain. His hand flew to the back of his neck. "Ow!" 

Linn felt she would die. "I'm sorry. I..." 

She tried jerking away, but Ben grabbed her hand, still wrapped about his head and shoulders. "No, it's okay. Your wrist chron just got caught in my hair." 

And so it had. Managing to contain her chagrin and astonishingly intense disappointment, Linn was able to remove her chrono and then untangle it from Ben's hair at the nape of his neck. The first kiss had been tantalizing. A balm over a wound so profound it seemed it would never heal. And all she'd done was maim him. 

But, once freed, Ben surprised her, with an eagerness that seemed to match her own. "Now, where were we again?" he asked, pulling her close again. 

Linn, more gingerly this time, slid her arms around him. "About here?" she suggested, feeling shy and breathless all at once. She tilted her head to the side, and Ben promptly rammed her in the nose. 

"No wonder Qui-Gon and Dar took care of us," he murmured, burying his head at her shoulder. "We're pathetic." 

She caught his face in her hands and lifted it up. Once gracious turn deserved another. She settled her lips on his. The light, tentative brushing became a deeper bruising as Linn felt a cold and desolate place within her begin to warm. 

It seemed forever before she needed to breathe anything but him. When she opened her eyes, Ben was gazing at her with a look of wonderment. Linn bent into him again. She simply had to kiss the mark high on his right cheek. Ben's eyes drifted shut and he exhaled heavily as her lips smoothed the darkened skin and then traveled softly toward his brow. 

A desperate idea formed that she could not say, and could barely whisper. Her lips sought his ear, "I..." Linn began awkwardly. "Let's..." 

Ben suddenly drew back, startled. He seemed almost shocked. Linn felt a stilted moment of panic. Had she offended him? Maybe, her heart wailed, he only pitied her. 

"I'm sorry," she began, stammering and flustered. 

But Ben put a finger over her lips. "You mean...?" 

Linn nodded. She couldn't read the unfathomable look. Had her hammering loneliness been too obvious, too aggressive? 

"With me?" Ben asked. 

Linn could only assume he must have meant it as a joke. "Of course," she retorted. "Do you see anyone else out here?" 

*** 

Ben followed Linn, down the hallway toward her room. A thousand thoughts and feelings were running through him. There were rules for this, he knew. Some fixed and rigid, others part of the lore apprentices shared at the Temple. He had never paid much attention to it before. Now he wished that he had. Somehow, innately, he knew that if there were exceptions, this wasn't going to be one of them. He was trying to remember why he cared. 

Qui-Gon would have known. And might have even understood. But, a fresh wave of grief engulfed him, his Master was gone, and Linn was the first being who had seemed to grasp what that searing loss had meant. 

He sought for some measure of guidance in the Force, but all he could sense was Linn, her hot hand in his, and the race of her pulse under his finger. Ben still had the presence of mind, barely, to check on Annie as they stumbled past the room he shared with the boy. He could sense his Apprentice was still deeply asleep. 

Linn hesitated, looking at the door, then to him. "What about..." 

"It's alright. Annie sleeps through anything." They were at the threshold of Linn's room. With a firm tug, Ben brought Linn around to face him. He had to be certain of this. "Wait," he began. "Are you sure..." 

It should have been a delightful affirmation. Instead, it was rather painful. Again. Linn flew at him, pressing her light body to his, and pinning him to the door, which immediately slid open under the pressure of their combined weight. They tumbled through. Ben landed with a loud thump, Linn sprawled across him. The door slid shut behind them with a hiss. 

Linn laughed. It was the first time he'd seen her really smile. "Good thing he'll sleep through anything." 

Ben reached up and caressed her cheek. "I..." he struggled for words. 

"What?" she asked, kissing her way up his neck toward his mouth. 

Her squirming against him seemed completely natural and totally unintentional; and felt impossibly good. He slid his hands down Linn's back. To his staggering amazement, she shifted her slim hips, wrapping her legs in line along his. Even with her mouth feverishly working his, still, he could not silence the involuntary groan that escaped. 

She stiffened, startled. "I'm sorry." 

Ben grasped her quickly, fearing that the sensations would end before they had begun. "Why are you apologizing?" 

Linn colored, a blush deepening the warm pink already on her face. And then Ben understood what he should have realized from the very beginning. He pulled her back to him, running his hands along her sides, nudging her gently to recapture the exact fit Linn had found unconsciously. "You are perfect." 

If it were possible, she reddened even further, even as her body relaxed against his. "I wasn't sure." 

He ran his fingers through her hair, down her neck, peeling away the collar of her tunic to smooth the skin at her collarbone. Even while wondering how he could possibly reciprocate the slow burn working through him, Linn answered the question, swaying above him, arching her back in response to his touch. 

Her eyes were very bright, her neck and face flushed. Could he **really** be responsible for the excited heat that rose from her? It would be so easy to find out and Linn lacked even the sensitivity in the Force to detect what he would do. Without another thought, he dipped into the aura that was Linn's, and nearly drowned in her longing. As a Jedi he had felt every emotion a species could have. Never before, though, had desire been directed at him. 

Ben was dizzy with the discovery. He felt a new urgency to get closer to what was still tantalizingly distant under the thin cover of her shirt. Patience had never been a particular strength of his. 

He began fingering the fabric bunched at her waist, wondering. "What now?" he finally had to ask. 

Linn stared down at him, sincerely surprised. "You mean you don't know?" 

Ben cradled her face between his hands. He **did** want her to know this, whether for reasons of ego, or because it just seemed important, he wasn't sure. 

"Remember, you're not the only one who's been sharing quarters with their father for most of their life." 

She trapped his hands in hers, kissing his fingertips, nodding her understanding. Ben felt a gush of shyness, and realized that it was a measure of his own feeling, reflected in Linn. "Illumination down 85 percent" he called softly, and the lights in her room abruptly dimmed. 

Linn sighed her thanks. "And now," she began, amusement lacing her voice, "if the holovids are any judge, you are supposed to throw me over your shoulder and toss me into bed. Then we tear each other's clothes off." 

In theory, it should have been easy enough. Linn obliged by rolling off of him. Ben stood, scooped her up, turned, and immediately tripped over a storage locker at the end of the bed. They sprawled forward, slamming the bed into the wall and tumbling onto a mattress stuffed with the feathers of some exotic blue humanoid. 

Linn yelped as she hit the bed. 

Ben swore under his breath. "Did I hurt you?" 

She laughed and rolled on to her side. A multitool protruded from her hip pocket. He fished it out and tossed it away. Judging from the sound, the flung tool hit a glass on the mantel at the far end of the room. 

Ben tried to stammer an apology, but Linn shook her head. "No more talking. I can't bear it." 

"You're not sure," Ben began. 

"I'm sure," she cut him off. "I need this..." 

Ben brushed away the tears that had suddenly appeared on her cheeks. "...to begin to let go. I know," he finished softly for her. 

"How do you do it?" Linn asked, dragging him unresisting to her. 

"What?" he breathed. 

"Know exactly what I'm thinking," she replied. 

"Luck, I guess," he lied, feeling a twinge of guilt, but not enough to resist the heady experience of his desire bouncing back to him through hers. 

It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, in the Force, anywhere. He couldn't, he wouldn't give it up. Qui-Gon had always encouraged him to explore detours, to see the beings who came in his path as opportunities presenting themselves for a reason. Somewhere, distantly, he thought he heard his Master's voice. A warning. That this was not the way to the living Force Ben so believed it was. 

But then he felt Linn's hands on him and didn't want to hear anything more. He shut out the dissenting voices. It was a blur -- her nails on his skin, his mouth on hers, a feeling of control, terror, helplessness. Lost within the other. Trying to prolong a living moment so exquisite it was painful. 

Afterward, he held her in his arms, brushing his lips across her forehead, breathing in her scent and her thoughts, until she drifted into sleep. 

Just before he followed her into slumber, he noticed that water had started bubbling over in the fountain again. He didn't care. 

* * * 

A tiny "rap, rap, rap," followed by Anakin's small voice calling, "Hello?" brought Linn out of her first peaceful sleep since Dar's death with a start. She sprang up abruptly. Sickening, disorienting seconds passed before she remembered where she was and why. 

To banish any doubt, Ben, but a beat or two behind her, lunged into a sitting position. "Blast," he swore softly, grabbing at the sheet, and making as if he planned to pull it off the bed with him. 

"It's **mine**," she hissed, refusing to relinquish the modesty that had abruptly returned after an alarming few hours absence. A small wrestling match ensued, with only the sheet to be the certain loser. 

"Hello?" Annie called again. 

Ben let go of the sheet, grabbed up his clothing, and began backing toward the washroom, making Linn heartily wish there had been at least two bedcovers handy. "Stall him," he pleaded softly. 

"Coming, Annie," Linn called, pulling the sheet around her. "I'm not dressed yet, just give me a moment." 

"Okay," she heard him reply. She spied her robe strewn across a chair and bolted out of the bed to pull it on before anything else was revealed in the bright light of day. Last night she'd shared her body and her bed with this man, this person she barely knew, but with whom she shared such a painful bond. Yet now she didn't feel connected to him at all. She felt awkward and embarrassed. And more alone than she had felt before. 

Ben emerged from the washroom, disheveled and alarmed, trying to tug on his second shoe. He hopped on one foot, casting about for an escape route. 

"I'm coming, Annie," Linn called again to assure the boy. And then muttered to Ben as he dashed across the room, "The window? You'll kill yourself." 

"I'm well versed in these escapes, I can assure you," he replied, as he popped the window open and fearlessly hopped out on to the ledge. 

They stood staring awkwardly at one another. Linn had no idea what to say, and judging from his panicked, mute expression, Ben was none the wiser, either. Somehow proclamations of love and devotion seemed even more inappropriate than saying nothing at all. 

Ben began to reach out to touch her cheek, but checked himself. Instead, he said, "Right, then. See you momentarily." 

With that he skittered down the ledge toward his own room. Linn held her breath. She didn't think she wanted him to tumble off the edge. She counted to ten, then rushed to open the door. At the threshold was a little boy, in a voluminous nightshirt, hair spiked wildly in every direction, face still swollen from sleep. 

"Do you know where Ben is?" he asked plaintively, rubbing an eye with a tiny fist. 

"I haven't seen him yet today," Linn hedged. She didn't like lying to Annie, partly because she had a feeling he could see right through her. 

"I woke up and he was gone," Annie said softly. "He's always there when I wake up." 

Linn's heart sank and she dropped to one knee, resting her hand against his cheek. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sure he's fine. He probably just went to look for breakfast. Don't worry, he'll be back." 

At that moment she saw Ben emerge silently from their room and begin walking up the hall. "There you are, Annie," he said brightly. Then to Linn, he added, "Good morning." 

"Good morning," Linn replied, fighting the panic-driven bile rising in the back of her throat. 

"Nice day out," Ben ventured. 

"Lovely," Linn replied. 

They stared lamely at each other for a long and tense moment, unable to think of a thing to say now that the standard pleasantries had been covered. 

Annie stood looking back and forth between them, his brow crunched in thought, apparently easily picking up the odd current running between them. "I'm hungry," he announced, ending the strange stalemate. 

"Right, breakfast," Ben said, obviously grateful to have a goal placed in front of him. Feeding his young charge was something he was probably equipped to handle. Small talk with his first lover, while his Apprentice looked on was not. 

"Are you coming with us?" Annie asked to Linn. 

Linn hesitated. Frankly, she'd rather break bread with a Hutt. But there were things to do, and none of this was Annie's fault anyway, and it wouldn't be fair to take it out on him. "Sure," she replied with a smile. "How about I meet you in the cafe' in fifteen minutes?" 

"Okay," Anakin replied cheerily, turning to head back toward his room. 

Ben lagged behind. Whatever words he was hoping to find didn't come. They continued staring at one another until Annie's voice called, "Come on, Ben! I'm hungry!" 

Ben hesitated another moment, seemingly about to say something, but then nodded shortly at Linn and turned to catch up with the boy. 

When the door shut soundly behind them, Linn fled to the shower, determined to wash every trace of the senatorial aide from her body. 

*** 

Breakfast was a slightly less awkward affair. Ben picked up again his complaint from the night before. Maybe he thought that sleeping with her would make her yield on this point too, Linn thought sourly. Which made her all the more adamant to carry the argument. 

"You can't come with me," Linn stated for the third time, as she stirred another spoonful of sweetener into her caf. 

Ben pursed his lips and put down his breakfast pastry, not liking the answer any better this time than he had the last two. "But I don't understand why not. It might..." 

"Let me put this in plain Basic," Linn sighed, interrupting him. "If I drag a Republic official and his apprentice to the place I'm going, I'll never work the Corellian sector again. And while that may not be of concern to you, it is to me." 

"But you don't have tell him we're from the Senate," Ben complained. 

"You couldn't pull it off. You look, at best, like tourists. At worst? Well, it would never work." 

Anakin, who had been busy making mountains out his porridge, took the ensuing silence as a chance to chime in with, "Look, it's Beggars Canyon," followed by his spoon making a run through the narrow gorge, complete with sound effects. 

"Do you think it's going to rain today?" the child asked, as his spoon cracked up on the cereal wall. "Boom! Sebulba is out of the race!" 

"Anakin, stop playing with your food and eat," Ben ordered. 

Linn shot him her best grumpy look. "I don't think so, Annie. But perhaps while I'm out, Ben could take you to the Gold Beaches to see the ocean." 

Anakin's spoon clattered across the table. "Ocean? I've never seen an ocean!" he exclaimed, then turned to Ben. "Can we go? Please! Please!" He was bouncing up and down in his seat, a half liter-sized ball of energy. 

Ben looked to Linn as if to plead his case once more, but seeing his defeat, returned his attention to Anakin. "If you finish your breakfast. And after we've prepped the ship." 

"Wahoo!" Anakin yelled. Grabbing his spoon, he began shoveling alarming amounts of cereal into his mouth. 

"You'll meet us there after?" Ben asked. 

Linn nodded, took another sip of her caf, and began to gather up her belongings to go. 

"Call if there is any problem," he said. 

"I will," Linn replied. She hesitated, wondering if she had heard something in his voice other than concern about her unfettered access to his Republic credit account. Maybe. Linn could feel the color rise in her cheeks and turned away from his regard. "Annie, have fun at the beach." 

The boy could only nod and grin through the mouthful of porridge. 

* * * 

There was nothing quite like Treasure Ship Row anywhere else in the galaxy, or at least not anywhere else that Linn had ever been. And she'd been more places than she could remember. Or probably wanted to anyway. 

She moved quickly, bobbing and weaving deftly around one street merchant after another. Even having spent all her life in places like this, Linn usually only recognized the wares they were attempting to hoist on her about half the time. Sometimes it was just better not to ask. 

Still, Annie would be amazed by the place. If they were still dirtside come this evening perhaps they could bring him here. But with any luck they'd be back aboard the Ron and well on the way to their next lead. 

Ship-bound with Ben. It was enough to bring her up short in the middle of the crowded market. Linn exhaled a deep breath. Forced to share the confined space with him? For, and she shivered at the prospect, **days**? The idea was as terrifying as it was thrilling. 

She cursed the awkwardness of the morning. It had never occurred to her that it would be so... bright ... in the room in daylight. Poor Annie, she reflected, with more than a twinge of guilt. She and Ben had been totally irresponsible there. With the intrusion there hadn't been any time to talk at all, either. 

Should she have done something else? Said "Thanks?" Or "That was great?" Or ... what? She had no idea. It was stupid to think of having to resort to holovids for advice on this sort of thing, but it wasn't like she had any other resource. 

Her skin still felt tender and raw from where he had touched it. Linn didn't think she was imagining it and pulled her arms tighter about her. More obviously, she had noticed that her face was red from more than just a perpetual state of embarrassment. Was this normal? Did he feel the same way? Had he enjoyed it too, or maybe Ben had just humored her? She didn't think so, but... 

Space, she was starting to sound like a bad holonovel. She shook herself out of it and found she was staring blankly at a display of tapestries. She had work to do. They'd never be back on the Ron at all if she couldn't find that hole in the wall that Sly's pal Rog used as a second home. She started walking again. 

She'd thought it was tucked in along a wall that bordered this line of stalls, but couldn't be entirely certain. Dar had always known the way. Dar had always taken care of those types of logistics. Something she was going to have to learn to do or starve. But even more terrifying than the thought of being destitute was the prospect of running Dar's beloved business into the ground. It had taken him years to build up the network of contacts he'd patched together. She couldn't let it all fall apart. Somehow, someway, she'd make him proud. 

But right now she had to find Rog. Just when she was about to give up and try another row she caught a glimpse of the familiar yellow neon sign. "Good food, cheap drinks" it would have spelled out had not all the letters been burned out save the G-O-O-F-S. The locals simply called it "Goofs". Linn remembered thinking the last time she was here that she'd just as soon eat off the ground in the marketplace as touch a morsel of food from this dump's kitchen. 

She struggled with the heavy door until it finally gave and swung outward. The contrast between the sunny Corellian morning and this dark pit was so extreme that she was blinded the moment she stepped inside. She knew the reason this effect wasn't remedied with proper lighting near the entry was both strategic and comical. Strategic because the unwelcome were easily picked off, and comedic because it was just plain amusing to the cretins who hung round here to see newcomers stagger and stumble around until they got their bearings. 

Linn was wise enough to wait it out. She stood with her back against the heavy door listening to the ever-present holo mounted on a wall behind the bar blare out the latest smashball match accompanied by the hoots and hollers of their respective fans. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkened room. 

The drunks hunched around the bar were just beginning to come into focus when she heard a familiar voice ring out from the corner. "Hey, Darrow, where's your old man?" 

Linn turned toward Rog's regular corner. Sure enough, there he was, drink in hand, sprawled out across his customary booth. "Dead," Linn called back. 

The bar went silent and all eyes turned to her. After a moment, there was a communal shrug and everyone went back to their drinks. Linn made her way over to Rog's table and slid into a seat across from him. 

The dark-skinned man produced another glass from somewhere, poured her a drink from the bottle he had at his side. He pushed it across the table toward her. She accepted it gratefully. 

Rog and Dar went back many, many years. Sometimes rivals, sometimes partners. Always mutual respect. They were cut from the same garment, Dar often said. A notion that Linn scoffed at, pointing out that Rog was nothing but a dirty old drunk. Which Dar assured his daughter he would have been too had it not been for her. Linn felt her eyes sting at the memory. 

"That's a damn shame," Rog said with a heavy sigh. 

Linn nodded her thanks and fought harder to hold back tears. If she were going to play this game, the game Dar had taught her, she couldn't burst into tears at the drop of a credit. She took a sip of her drink and steadied herself. 

"It was the damn data disk, wasn't it?" Rog asked, although he already seemed to know the answer. He ran his stubby hand through his graying hair, giving his head a good scratch. 

"Yeah," Linn replied, taking another drink. Rog refilled her glass. 

"I suppose you know about Sly or you wouldn't be here." 

Linn nodded. "Do you know what was on the disk?" 

Rog shook his head. "Didn't want to know. Stupid kid. Anything from Naboo space is too hot. I told him to dump the damn thing, but the rancor's ass wouldn't listen to me. Thought this was his big break." 

"Do you know where he got it from, Rog?" 

"Sly was running the Fed blockade." He slurped his drink noisily. "Probably picked it up when he was in the neighborhood." 

An idea formed. "He wouldn't have gone in there by himself." Linn sipped her drink. Rog did always have good taste in booze, even before lunchtime. "Sly must have been pulling for someone else. Any idea who, or where he got his crew from?" 

"Dunno. There was a lot of competition for Naboo business. All the syndicates were in there." 

Linn nodded, hoping her disappointment didn't show. Sly had free-lanced for a dozen cartels and could have picked up crew in 50 different places. Or his contractor or broker might have supplied the crew. She needed a better lead. "Is there anyone you can think of who might know what was on the disk or where he got it from?" 

Rog scratched his scruffy chin, his milky blue eyes rolling back slightly as he considered the question. "There was this little Twi'lek number he'd been shipping up with lately. Bela or something, I think. Maybe she knows. Works as a dancer down toward the city center." 

"Do you remember the name of the place?" Linn asked, leaning forward, elbows on the table, unable to check her rising excitement. 

"Can't say that I do," he replied, and then called to the bartender. "Hrudey, what's the name of that club where Sly's Twi'lek dances?" 

"Lookwooder's." 

Rog snapped his fingers. "That's it." 

"Thanks, Rog," Linn said, trying not to grin. "I owe you one." 

"No," Rog replied. "This one's on me. For your old man. You just watch your back, you hear?" 

"I will. Thank you," Linn said, rising from the table. 

Before she walked away, Rog said, "He was a good man. If I had friends, I would have considered him one." 

"I know he felt the same way," she said and hurried away. She stopped by the bar on the way out and had the bartender send over a bottle of Corellia's finest. Compliments of Dar. 

*** 

Ben and Anakin had spent their morning drawing additional stock for the ship, seeing to refueling, and a dozen other tasks of vital importance to survival, but horribly dull to a nine-year-old waiting to see the ocean for the first time. Anakin had tried to be mindful of the lessons in patience. They were exercises Ben considered he should probably review himself in light of his own considerable distraction and agitation. By midday, Annie's excitement could no longer be contained, and Ben welcomed the excuse. When Linn contacted him on the comlink to report on her meeting with Rog, there was no reason to wait. So, they headed off for the sea. 

By the time they were within sight of the beach, Anakin was hopping from foot to foot with excess energy, struggling to stay at his Master's side and not break into a run. 

"It's so big!" Annie bellowed. "It goes on forever and ever!" 

Ben smiled. "Go on, Annie, I'll catch up." 

"Yippee!" the boy exclaimed and took off at a dead run for the water. 

Ben watched him go, laughing to himself and wondering when was the last time he'd ever been so awed by anything. The answer, when it came, caught him off guard. Despite the awkwardness of this morning, he couldn't deny last night was one of the most wondrous of his life. If he closed his eyes he could still remember in perfect detail her scent, her taste, the velvety feel of her skin. The way she sighed contently when he - 

"Master, hurry!" His reverie was ended abruptly when Anakin called to him. The boy was crouched down just in front of the water, poking his fingers at it, but pulling them just out of the way of the tiny waves lapping the shore. He leapt away squealing in delight as a larger wave nearly caught him unaware. 

"Anakin," Ben scolded, as he joined the child at the shore's edge. "You must be mindful of how you address me." 

"I'm sorry... Ben," he said earnestly. Annie then spun about to chase a wave out to sea, only to run back shouting gleefully as the wave returned to chase him. Ben watched, bemused, as Annie pursued and was pursued by the pounding surf. A nagging sense of responsibility made him feel they should take advantage of the tides to work on Force channeling exercises. But Annie's attention was firmly fixed elsewhere, and his own absence of mind had turned every mundane task that day into a grueling ordeal. Lessons would wait for another day. 

Annie whooped, having won a running race with a large wave. His victory lap brought him back to Ben's side. "Can we go in?" Anakin asked, breathless and already soaked to the skin. 

Ben wished he'd thought to acquire something more suitable for them to wear. 

"Yes," he relented. "But not too far out. Linn should be here soon." 

Annie was already running up the beach, away from the tideline, pulling off his overshirt. Ben followed, and they both sat down. 

"You like her, don't you?" Annie asked as he yanked off his first boot. 

"Who?" 

"Linn!" Annie asserted, like his Master wasn't the brightest crystal in the lightsaber. 

"I suppose she's all right," Ben replied, heartily wishing he could change the subject. 

"You really don't know anything about girls, do you?" Annie said, shaking his head. 

"And you're an expert?" 

"*I've* had girlfriends before," the boy announced, pointing at his chest with his finger for emphasis. 

"You have, have you?" The relationship between Master and Padawan was supposed to be a symbiotic one, with each one learning from the other, but Ben thought this was going a bit far. 

"Sure!" Annie replied, very earnest and serious. "They can't resist pod racers." 

"Oh, of course." Ben finished rolling up his pant legs and pulled his undershirt over his head, tossing it aside. The boy followed suit. 

Anakin got up and headed for the water. "Anyway, if you want her to like you back-" 

"Wait," Ben interrupted, following. "Who said I wanted her to like me in the first place." 

Annie shot him a look which in any culture could only be read as "whatever" and rolled his eyes. He took his first step into the water and yelped. "It's cold!" 

"It's better if you just jump in," Ben assured him, and sprang forward, giving a yelp of his own as he was engulfed in the frigid water. Well, that answered the question of why no one was at the beach. 

Anakin waded out to where Ben was, moving gingerly and shivering. Through chattering teeth he said, "You get all nervous around her." 

"I'm not nervous around her," Ben denied, hunching down and wrapping his arms around his knees so he was at eye level with Anakin. Only his head remained above the water. Anakin was in up to his waist. 

The boy dipped his hands in then yanked them back out. "Yes, you are," he assured Ben. "Girls don't like that. They want you to be sure of yourself, to seem like you know what you're doing." 

"I'll keep that in mind," Ben said with a wry grin. 

"Good. That way when I get married you won't be left alone." 

Ben threw his head back and laughed. "Annie, we're Jedi, it's highly unlikely either of us will be getting married." 

Anakin drew his eyebrows together in confusion, but before he could voice some unspoken concern, they were interrupted. 

"Are you mad?" Linn called from the shore. "It's far too cold to be in that deep." 

"Why don't you come out and rescue us?" Ben shouted back. 

"Because I'm not crazy!" 

"Come on, Linn, it's not that cold," Annie wheedled through his chattering teeth. "Pleeeaasssse." 

Linn stared at them both. "You **are** crazy." But she did sit down on the beach to pull off her boots. When she joined them in the water, Ben saw that she had only rolled up the legs on her flight suit. "Only up to my knees." 

"See, it's not that cold," Anakin said, splashing a little water at her. 

"Then why are your lips blue?" Linn retorted, sending some back his way. 

It didn't take a Jedi to read Linn's intent when Ben saw her gesture for Annie to join her. She bent down, and said something to the boy. 

Anakin immediately ducked under water. When he popped up again, it was with both arms working, sending walls of water at Ben. Ben, of course, was ready for him. To Annie's euphoric delight, Ben grabbed him around the waist, and lifted him up out of the water. With the sweeping movement, an emotional current sparked so suddenly, Ben nearly dropped his giggling apprentice before he could hurl him into deeper surf. Where had **that** come from, he wondered. He glanced around, but only Linn was close enough, and she was staring down at the waves lapping to her knees. 

"Come **on**, Ben!" Annie squealed. Ben obliged, heaving Annie up, and sending him sailing. Annie landed with an enormous splash. 

With the motion, Ben felt another fervent wave. The gush of longing was so foreign and so exhilarating, it took a few seconds before he recognized it from the night before. And it was directed at.... him? But from where? Ben actually looked around, befuddled, trying to pinpoint the source of someone's sly, and not-to-so innocent, regard. 

As Annie would have said, sometimes, his Master wasn't the brightest crystal around. Linn had to be the source. There wasn't any other person and the sensation had her particular stamp upon it. This casual, disinterested pose was an act. And this merited further investigation, Ben thought. 

He waded over to her. She was playing the downcast game again, and seemed determined to ignore him. As Annie erupted in the surf, an unlikely fish, Ben confided to her, "I bet I can guess what you're thinking." 

"Can you?" she retorted, her face coloring. Linn sensed the challenge, raised her head to take it, and promptly lost. As her eyes flickered over him, lingering, he felt another spurt of pure desire. 

Ben hadn't even been aware of it. He had thought nothing of stripping down to his trousers and tearing around in the water. For a Jedi, the physical body was merely a crafted vessel for channeling the Force which he or she shrouded in a dark robe to symbolize service and anonymity. To have prompted and be the object of a woman's very private fantasy was unprecedented. It was amazing. Embarrassing. Thrilling. And as suddenly as her desire had flared, his responded. Ben wanted her. Badly. 

"If you can tell what we're thinking, then the women of Corellia aren't safe until you find some dry clothing, are they?" 

It was a bold and delightful comeback. Ben did the only thing he could do. He swung her into his arms. 

"Don't you dare, Ben Kenobi," she threatened. It might have been more credible if she weren't clinging to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. 

And he would dare. Besides, with Anakin swimming over to join in the fun, there weren't any other options. Ben heaved Linn into the water. She was no more anxious to release him than he was of her. They both went under together in a tangle of brushing limbs. 

When they came up for air, Anakin sent another wall of water in their faces. He then announced suddenly, "I'm hungry!" 

* * * 

As day faded into dusk, the market stalls along Treasure Ship Row magically transformed themselves from a place to shop, to a place where tourists, smugglers, and those with more credits than brains could entertain themselves with games of chance and skill. 

The aroma of the cuisine of a hundred street vendors mingled in the air with the laughter of the winners and the discontent of the losers. It was just the sort of place that fires the imagination of a nine-year-old boy. 

Annie was so excited he didn't know where he wanted to go first. Linn suspected that if he could have, he would have split himself into a million little pieces and scattered like mercury. As it was, Ben was keeping a hand on the back of the boy's neck to keep him from running off and getting lost in the crowd. 

"What's that?" Annie exclaimed as much as asked, pointing to table where a man moved three crustacean shells in a rapid circular motion, weaving them in and out among each other. He pulled away from Ben's grip and dashed to the table. 

His head bobbed back and forth between the wizened old man with the shells and the Selonian across from him. Linn couldn't tell if he was more excited about, the game or the alien. 

"What are you doing?" he asked. 

The old man gave the lad an approximation of a smile. "She's to watch and see if she can determine which shell I have the bead under." 

"That one," the Selonian guessed, jabbing her finger at the center shell. 

The old man shook his head and lifted it to reveal nothing by empty table. "Care to try again?" 

The Selonian shot him a dirty look and moved away. 

"How about you, young man?" 

"Okay!" Anakin sang out at the same time as Ben's, "No, thank you." 

"Please," Annie begged, looking first to Ben then to Linn. "Just once?" 

"It's not up to me," Linn replied. 

Annie turned his attention back to Ben. "Please! It would be a good concentration exercise." 

Ben sighed. "Once," he said, putting down a credit chip. 

The man smiled, already seeming to calculate his winnings. "Now watch carefully," he said, slipping the bead under the right hand shell. 

Annie watched with rapt attention. When the man stopped, he immediately pointed to the shell on the left. "There." 

The man frowned and lifted the shell to reveal the bead. "Double or nothing?" he offered. 

Before Ben could object, Annie agreed. 

They were going on quadruple or nothing, when Linn decided this would be a good time to run her errand. "I'm going to go," she whispered in Ben's ear. 

"I wish you'd reconsider," he replied, his voice hushed as well, half an eye on Anakin. 

"It's not exactly the type of place we can take Annie," she pointed out. 

"Then let me go." 

Linn laughed out loud at that. "I'll meet you at Jor's in an hour. Do you remember where it is?" 

"Believe it or not, I've been making my way around the galaxy for nearly twenty-six years now," Ben said, not without some humor. 

Linn placed a hand on Annie's shoulder. "I have some errands to run. I'll see you at the restaurant." 

Annie nodded slightly, not taking his eyes off the moving shells. A crowd was starting to gather, watching in amazement. The man behind the table was beginning to sweat. 

Linn shook her head and retreated into the crowd. He truly was a remarkable little boy. 

*** 

Ben watched Linn push through the crowd away from them and sighed. He really would have preferred to go himself, partly because he was worried about her, and partly because he believed he could get the job done faster and with less attention drawn. 

Again, however, he had conceded. Again, he was forced to wait. It was almost felt like being with Qui-Gon, he mused, and then steadied himself for the familiar pain that had always ripped through him whenever anything reminded him of his former Master. 

It didn't come. Could he be beginning to heal, he wondered. He still missed Qui-Gon to be sure, but the searing psychic loss hadn't come in the expected wave. Perhaps finding Linn had been the will of the Force after all. Perhaps they were brought together to help each other. 

He liked the thought anyway. It helped to quell the nagging doubts. And if it had indeed been the will of the Force that brought her to him, then the Council could hardly object. Could they? 

"Yes!" Anakin yelled in celebration of another victory, dragging Ben back to the here and now. 

The crowd around the boy was growing larger and it was starting to make Ben a bit uneasy. It was time to move on before they attracted the wrong kind of attention. Besides, it was unethical for a Jedi to use his Force powers to take advantage of those lacking them, even if it might teach the con artist a lesson or two. 

"Annie, that's enough," Ben said, when the youngster had beaten the man for the eighth time. 

"But?" 

"No buts," Ben interrupted firmly, placing his hands on the boy's small shoulders. "It's enough. Settle up and let's be on our way." 

The con snarled with relief and handed over the credit chips. 

*** 

Linn made her way up Starline Avenue at a clipped pace, head down, shoulders slouched, mind fully on the task at hand. Well, mostly, anyway, although she had to admit a certain senatorial aide dominated a small, but significant, section of her thoughts. Thoughts she firmly pushed aside as she spied the sign for Lookwooder's just a few doors away proclaiming, "Live Nudes! Over 80 Species!" 

Charming, she huffed to herself and hesitated a moment at the door. She took a deep breath before entering. The interior was just as she'd expected it. Dark, except for a brightly-lit catwalk stage where a parade of females danced in various states of undress. Even more disturbing were the males clamoring for their attention from their velvet upholstered, overstuffed booths. She thought she recognized a few of Dar's pals. 

A scantily clad light blue humanoid approached her and gave her the once over, eyeing her oversized flightsuit with distaste. "We're not hiring right now," she said, gesturing back toward the door. 

"Oh, I'd pay to see that," called an obviously inebriated man from a booth a couple of meters away. 

His companion slapped his head. "Shut up, Court, that's Dar's girl." 

The other man laughed. "All grown up now though, I see." 

"The day you see what's under this flightsuit is the day Hoth becomes a summer resort," Linn promised. Her hands on hips stance was a front though. Underneath, she felt as naked and exposed as the women up on the catwalk. The faster she could get out of here, the better. "I'm actually looking for someone. Bela," she said to the woman, speaking low. "I hear she's a dancer here." 

"Where's your old man?" the lesser of the two drunks called to her. "Sending you out to do his leg work now is he?" 

Her hands went automatically back up to her hips. "Maybe I'm working on a project of my own," she called back. 

That put the men into peals of laughter. "Yeah, right." 

"Good one, Darrow," the other added. 

Linn turned her back to them. "Look," she said softly to the other woman, "there's fifty credits in it if you tell me where I can find Bela." She pulled a credit piece out of one her pockets, and slid it toward her. 

The blue woman peered around furtively, and snatched the credit chip away. Linn couldn't begin to fathom where she'd hide it, but it was gone before she could even blink. 

She leaned close, whispering in Linn's ear. "Things got a little hot around here for her after Sly got whacked. She decided to jump planet to wait it out." 

"Where?" Linn breathed holding out another fifty-credit piece and hoping it wasn't home to Ryloth. 

The woman looked around again before grabbing the additional chip, "Sacorria. She's working at a bar called The Dancing Drall." 

"Thank you." Linn turned to go, only to be stopped by the taunts of the men nearby. 

"Give our best to Dar," one called. 

Linn put on her hardest face. "I would," she said, evenly. "But he's dead." With that, she turned on her heel and left, leaving the two in stunned silence. 

It was barely a block before the tears came, and another three before she willed them to stop. Who was she kidding? She couldn't run this business. Not without her father. 

She wrapped her arms about her, trying to find comfort in the oversized bulk of her father's clothing. She was his daughter. She'd always be Dar's girl. But would anyone ever think of her as anything but that? Could she be anything except his little girl? 

With those sobering questions still ringing in her mind, she shoved her hands into her pockets and headed off to meet Ben and Annie. 

*** 

"I'm buying dinner," Annie announced triumphantly when she joined him and Ben at Jor's. "Look Linn, I won!" His little palms were full of credit pieces. 

"Wow," Linn said, suitably impressed. "You certainly did. Thank you, Annie, that would be lovely." 

She turned her attention to Ben, who was eyeing her impatiently. 

"So?" he asked. 

"We leave for Sacorria in the morning." 

Before Ben could ask her any further questions, the host approached and addressed Anakin. "Excuse me, Master Skywalker. If you'll follow me, your table is ready." 

* * * 

Anakin was having a marvelous time with his dinner of quick-fried crustaceans and vegetables over noodles. The dish was traditionally eaten with a thin pair of 18-centimeter sticks. Only a license to eat with his hands could have been more fun for Annie. Having never seen such utensils, let alone seafood of any sort, as much food spilled around his plate as into his mouth in his efforts to scoop it all up. 

"Chupa!" he exclaimed as a large morsel escaped his tenuous grasp and plunged to the floor. 

"Anakin!" Ben scolded. "What have we discussed about using that sort of language?" 

Linn couldn't hold back her laughter. "**You speak Huttese**, Annie?" she asked. 

"**All my life**," Annie replied easily, stuffing noodles from around the side of his plate into his mouth with his fingers. He slurped them up, sending bits of sauce splattering all over his face. "**It's the language of commerce on Tatooine. Who taught you**?" 

"Annie," Ben sighed. "I know you possess better table manners than you are currently displaying." 

His Huttese speaking companions ignored him. 

"**My father. You can't work on the fringe and not know it**," Linn replied, and held out a piece of her fish between her sticks for him to sample. "**Here, try this**." 

Annie chomped down on the morsel enthusiastically. His eyes lit up. "**That's good! Can I have another bite**?" 

Linn nodded and slid a couple of chunks on to his plate. "**Don't hold your sticks so tightly**," she explained. "**You'll have more control that way**." 

Annie tried again and failed to snare up the piece of fish that Linn had placed on his plate. It landed in a pool of salty sauce, causing a loud and messy slash. 

"**Don't worry, it takes practice**," Linn assured him. 

Ben drew his eyebrows together, eyes darting between them nervously. 

"**He doesn't speak Huttese**?" Linn asked, enjoying his discomfort. 

"**Only Basic as far as I know**," the boy replied, going after and spearing a pesky, but particularly appealing chunk of fish with the end of his stick and stuffing it into his mouth. 

"Do you think perhaps we could speak Basic now?" Ben asked, his annoyance at being left out clear. 

"**He's afraid I'm going to tell you that he thinks you're pretty**," Annie explained, through a mouthful of fish. 

"**Is that right**?" Linn asked, glancing at a very peeved Ben. 

Annie nodded, still poking at his food. "**But he's shy and doesn't know much about girls. I tried to help him out, you know. But I don't think he got it. So, if you want him to kiss you, you might have to make the first move**." 

Linn laughed out loud. "**Who says I want him to kiss me**?" 

"**You do**," Annie assured her. 

"All right, what is so amusing?" Ben demanded. 

"Nothing," Linn and Annie insisted at the same time. 

"Right." Ben looked back down at his food. "Hurry up and finish, Annie, it's almost your bed time." 

*** 

Linn wrung her hands and paced the small confines of her room as she wondered alternately if he'd come to her, if she wanted him to, and then, finally, what she'd do if he didn't. She could, of course, go to him. But, no, she realized, there was Annie to think about. And besides, she exhaled in frustration, her making the first move was about as likely as the Republic collapsing. 

No, Ben would have to come to her. 

She stopped in front of the mirror and considered herself for the second time in a week. Was she becoming narcissistic? She snorted at the irony. For that to be the case, wouldn't she have to like what she saw or do something about it? Instead, the same non-descript face stared back at her. Should she apply some color just in case? Change into something more alluring? Space, whom was she kidding? Everything she owned was a cast-off of Dar's, or something she could easily exchange with Annie. She wouldn't even know where to begin. 

Linn moved her face closer to the mirror. Had she changed, she wondered since the night before? Had anything happened to transform Dar's little girl? Linn scoffed at the notion. She had changed all right. In the time since she last looked in a mirror, she had gained deep circles under her eyes, and dropped a kilo or three from the stress. It had everything to do with the loss of her father, and nothing to do with finding a lover. Still, she studied the reflected image closely, looking for any sign of a change. After a couple of moments she stuck her tongue out at her reflection and turned away to continue pacing. 

She needed someone to talk to before she wore a hole in this carpet. She ached for Dar, and would have traded her soul for just five minutes with him. She angrily pushed back the tears that threatened to fall at the thought. 

Besides, if her father had known about last night, Ben wouldn't have survived the day. In a flash of insight, she wondered if Dar had purposely kept her in men's clothes and shielded precisely to avoid situations like this. It seemed likely and frankly like a good course of action about now. 

Was this something you talked about with your female friends, she wondered. Like that was going to be even remotely useful, she realized. Linn couldn't remember when she had last had a conversation with a female she hadn't had to pay for the information received. Linn sighed in frustration and flopped down on her bed. "Ugh!" she exclaimed. 

It was the worst thing she could have done. Sinking into the soft mattress only brought back how Ben had joined her there -- the way his lips had felt as they trailed their way down her neck, how his hands had felt on her, and how they had made her feel, the weight of his body on hers. 

Just what the hell was going on with her anyway? Was she turning into some sort of wanton sicko? She was horrified by what she had felt at the beach today. When Ben had popped up out of the sea, water streaming down his body in rivlets, she'd felt an overwhelming current of desire rush through her that had nothing to do with conscious thought. If Annie hadn't been there, she was fairly certain that she would have ripped what little clothes he'd been wearing off and had her way with him right there in the water. Yeah, right, she snorted, rejecting the ridiculous self-image. Then other thoughts intruded... Maybe... A very frustrated groan escaped. 

That does it, she thought, hopping to her feet. She was both pathetic and a pervert. And he wasn't going to show. She'd just try to get some sleep. But, she thought, glancing at the bed, probably in a chair. 

The soft rapping on her window alarmed her, with near catastrophic results. She whipped around, yanking her blaster from its holster on her side, and brought it to bear on the unseen threat. 

Ben was standing precariously on the ledge, and nearly fell backwards when he saw the weapon in her hand. Somehow he managed to regain his balance, smile, and put his hands up to indicate he wasn't packing. 

He'd come after all. Linn fought the urge to be thankful. She tossed the blaster on a chair, and moved toward the window. 

"Hello," she said shyly, sliding the glass apart. 

"Hello," Ben replied, looking down at his feet. "I just thought I'd stop by and say goodnight." 

"Most people use the door to do that. It's what halls were created for," Linn explained in a voice usually reserved for small children or animals. 

"This way seemed more dashing." 

"Is that what it is?" she asked. 

"I have it on good authority that women look for that in a man." 

"I think you should look to someone other than a nine-year-old for advice in such matters," Linn responded. 

Ben seemed downcast. "And I thought it seemed like a good idea at the time. Perhaps I should try a podracer next time." 

Linn grabbed the front of his shirt. She wasn't quite ready to let him into the room, and the truth of the matter was that Ben really did look pretty good perched at her window. "Do you want to know what a woman looks for in a man?" 

Ben wrapped an arm around her waist. "Please. Do tell." He teased a kiss out of her, but then eased down to sit on the sill. "And I assume that you mean something other than the superb balance to sit on a window ledge two floors off the ground?" 

"Balance is important," she conceded. But another was higher on the list, and wondrously on display before her. "I'll also include the quality of a rogue, the hint of bad within mostly good." 

"I'm not bad," he replied, feigning indignation. 

"Yes, you are. There's... something, just under the surface," she assured him. 

"I'll show you what's under the surface," he promised, pulling her into a rough kiss and then as quickly, releasing her. He rocked back again onto the ledge, evidently prepared to await further enlightenment. 

"You prove my point," she said, slightly dazed. 

"I see. And I would have thought that 'looks good when wet,' was your highest priority." 

"I think we established that this afternoon," she laughed. 

"Right. Anything else?" 

"A woman always likes to see a man in a cape." 

Ben made as if he would rise and leave the ledge. "I think I left a robe in my room. Let me go get it." 

Linn halted his retreat, pulling him back to her. "Lastly, women like a dramatic entrance." 

As she drew a willing Ben through the window, it was, unfortunately, another splendid idea spoiled by intruding furniture. Their fall to the carpeted floor had been Linn's intention. The fall of the credenza next to the window which toppled over when they did, was not. 

Linn slid to the floor, Ben landed neatly on top of her, and the table landed on him. 

"Oof!" Linn exclaimed under the combined weight. 

Ben impatiently pushed the table aside. 

"If we break anything," she scolded, "it goes on your expense report." 

"Put it on the card," he ordered catching her face between his palms. Linn burst out laughing through the kiss Ben tried planting on her mouth. 

"I suggest we table the topic for further discussion," Linn giggled. 

Ben's eyes flitted to the upended credenza. "I would not attempt tabling of anything with you unless there was a bacta tank close by." 

"That's not very nice. I demand that you apologize." 

And what an apology it was -- a lazy kiss of gentle testing and exploration. Unhurried, thorough, and filled with the promise of more to come. Linn sighed, closing her eyes and melting into the sensation. The night before had been a frenzied melding of pain and passion. But this. This languor was so much better. She could stay here all night. 

Except... 

"What's wrong?" Ben murmured. 

"Unless we find that bacta tank, in the interest of avoiding rug burns, I move for a change of location." 

"I second that. The motion is carried." Illustrating the point, Ben once again attempted what Linn was beginning to realize was a favorite ploy of his -- picking her up bodily and depositing her in the locale of his choice. 

"Point of order," she insisted, as Ben hoisted her up. "This motion will not be carried **anywhere** unless that bacta is located first." 

The motion was carried, even if Linn was not. Ben gently set her down. 

If he negotiated the room a bit cautiously to sit at the edge of the bed, Linn could not blame him. She watched as he struggled to remove his boots. After a few moments of fumbling, she took pity and went to his aid. Linn knelt and helped him tug the right one off. "Have you ever noticed that in the holovids, everyone always wears boots, but you never see them actually come off?" 

She tossed the boot over her shoulder, and noticed with amusement that Ben winced. Fortunately, there was no crash. She began pulling on the left one. "How do you get these off by yourself?" 

"Normally it's not a problem," he replied wryly, "but then usually I'm not nearly as anxious to be rid of them." 

Linn threw the second boot almost aiming for, and missing, a lamp. Ben probably knew she was doing it deliberately. She was trying to provoke a particular sardonic reaction of his. 

"Your turn, now," Ben said ambiguously, and pulled her up. He obviously had something in mind. As Linn rose to her feet, Ben remained sitting. Setting his hands on her hips, he moved her about, just so, until Linn was standing between his legs, in front of him. 

Linn rested her hands on his shoulders. "Now wha..." She choked back the inquiry with a gasp as Ben slowly slid his hands down her right leg. 

"If you don't mind," he asked, in a tone that had nothing to with politeness, "I prefer you without weaponry." Ben began working her holster with one hand. With the other... 

"No, not at all," Linn breathed. She closed her eyes, and felt him manipulate the cord at her knee, then slide his fingers back up her leg to the clasp at her hips. The holster slid down and clattered to the floor. "Too bad I can't return the favor," she rasped. 

"I've never needed a blaster," Ben observed. "And now..." 

Linn tried pushing him back into the bed, but Ben resisted. "No, not quite yet, Linn. We're in no hurry tonight." 

He squinted into the glare of the overhead light, then at her. Ben called, "Illumination down...." He looked at her inquiringly. 

"50 percent," Linn ordered. The room dimmed slightly. She shrugged and smiled. "It's simply that at the beach today I realized that I missed certain... uh," she searched for the right word, and settled on, "features last night." 

"I had the same thought," Ben said. 

It had seemed to be innocent enough, at first. Having relieved her of the holster, Ben began casually moving his hands over her flightsuit, up, down, and around. He didn't actually touch her body, but only the worn fabric which covered it. He fingered her wrists, and throat, lightly caressing the exposed skin he found there, but then moved on. The stroking was thorough, slow, ever so slow, up her front, down her sides and back, up the insides of her legs. 

Linn didn't know that such an ache for physical contact was even possible. Clutching at his shoulders, standing before him, Linn felt she was writhing in a prison, trapped between his caressing hands and the confines of her clothing. 

"Have I mentioned, Linn," he said quietly, "how much I like you in this?" Ben pressed his fingers around her waist, sliding the fabric up under her breasts, then letting it fall as his hands continued their journey across her body. "You're like a secret package, under wraps, and only I know what's inside." 

Polite conversation seemed star systems away. "I thought I should have found something else..." she managed to exhale. 

"No. Don't change a thing." Ben bent over her hands, mouthing the exposed skin at her wrists. "I told you before, you're perfect." 

How did he do it, she wondered. How did he always know what to say? What to do? 

"Is that what a man wants in woman, then? An oversized flightsuit?" she asked running her hands through the hair at the back of his neck. 

"Among other things," he replied, falling back on the bed and dragging her down on top of him. 

"Like what?" she pushed, working to pull his shirt over his head. She began running her hands slowly over his chest. 

Ben's eyes slid shut, his hands moving through her hair. "What a man wants most is a woman who wants him." 

Linn seized the opportunity. She grabbed his roaming hands. "There's one other thing a woman looks for in a man." 

Ben looked up at her, eyes glittering, a questioning and very satisfied smirk resting in his expression. "And that is? 

Linn took his hands and brought them to the top clasps of her flightsuit. "A woman looks for a man who knows when he should stop talking and just take her clothes off." 

Ben fingered the tie at her breast. "Unfortunately, Linn, we may have a problem there." Before her frown could deepen into a full panic, he explained, "As delighted as I am in your unusual choice in seductive clothing, I have no idea how to get it off of you." 

"That," she assured him, "I can help you with." 

*** 

Linn woke slowly and found herself securely wrapped in Ben's arms. She lay there a long time, relishing his feel and the slow, even breathing that told her he was still sound asleep. 

She was loath to move, but a chilly breeze biting into her bare skin reminded her of why she had awoken. In her eagerness for his dramatic entrance, neither of them had thought to actually shut the window. Ben was comfortable enough; he had taken the blanket and did not seem inclined to relinquish it with a gentle tug. 

She slipped out of the bed, and cast about for her robe, but came across Ben's discarded shirt first and quickly pulled it over her head. As she wriggled into its voluptuous folds, Linn could just catch the scent of him mingling with the tang of the sea. 

Padding to the window, she almost tripped over the upturned credenza still on the floor - another bit of detritus from the evening. Linn glanced back at the bed, but Ben seemed oblivious. She quietly righted the table then went to the window and slid it shut. 

It was a breathtakingly beautiful night. Corellia's two moons hung heavy and low in the sky. Linn wrapped her arms about her, inhaling deeply of the fragrance clinging to the fiber of his shirt. How was it possible that in a week since Dar's death she could find a measure of contentedness? She missed him horribly, still, and would for a long time. But Ben... To have someone with whom she could share her grief and a sliver of happiness had made the aching loss bearable. 

Linn had never met anyone like him. He always knew what she was thinking, always had just the right thing to say. And, she thought a bit smugly, he certainly seemed to know the right things to do. 

She reached out with her fingers and placed them against one of the moons on the chilled glass of the window, and started a tiny bit when another hand joined hers there, his warm fingers entwining hers. "Ben," she sighed. 

His other hand slid around her waist and pulled back against him. "It's cold without you," he whispered against her ear, his voice still rough with slumber. 

He brought their hands down from the window, turning them so that he could kiss his way up her arm, starting at the inside of her wrist. Tenderly, he worked past the delicate skin on the inside of her elbow, skipping over the fabric covering her arm to the place where her shoulder met her throat. "This shirt looks far better on you than it does on me," he said softly, tugging it to expose more. 

Linn turned into his arms. "We left the window open." She couldn't entirely stifle the giggle and slid her hands down his back, noting a critical omission, and enjoying the feel of it. "At least I had the decency to put something on before I did something about it." 

Ben didn't seem overly troubled. It didn't stop his forward march across her shoulder. "You've my shirt." 

"But not your pants." 

He pulled her closer, shifting slightly to one side and finding another perfect fit, hip to hip, the line of his thigh aligned with hers. Linn pushed her hands around his neck, remembering to be more mindful this time of just how lethal a wrist chron could be. Under her kisses, Ben stretched his neck and Linn began working from his ear to shoulder. And stopped. Her lips had encountered an odd patch of skin. She'd noticed it earlier, and thought it was a scar. But inspecting it more closely now, she could see that it looked more like a burn -- a particularly nasty and partially healed burn. 

She'd never seen anything quite like it. It almost seemed more like a cut, but the edges were clean, so it couldn't have been a vibroknife."Ben?" she questioned, looking up at him. 

"Naboo," he replied simply. 

Linn's attention turned back to the wound. "It doesn't look like blast burn," she said, running her fingers softly over it. "I've never seen..." 

"Destroyer," Ben said, running his fingers down her back. "The Federation armed its battle droids with some pretty heavy weaponry." 

She looked at him with sad eyes. "Yes, but..." 

"It's fine, really," he said, smoothing his lips over the place right behind her ear. 

"So close," Linn whispered, and kissed the scorched skin. "Too close." 

"I told you I have a problem with burns and short outs." 

Ben paused, and Linn glanced up to see what had caught his attention. "What?" 

He was looking over her shoulder. With a nod, he indicated the courtyard below. Linn rotated again in his arms to look out the darkly tinted window. She could just make out a figure moving stealthily below. Toward the musical fountain. 

"I suspect malicious intent," he said wryly. 

Linn smiled. She had been too ... occupied to hear it this evening. 

Repeating her thought, Ben said, "The fountain hasn't bothered me at all tonight." 

Linn leaned into him, savoring the unusual feel of her back to his chest. "We've been distracted, I think." 

"Is that what it is?" Ben whispered at her neck. "Distraction?" Linn felt his hand slip quietly under her shirt, his shirt, to caress what he found there. "Distraction doesn't quite seem to cover it all." Under the touch, her skin puckered and pulled on itself. She shivered. 

"Are you cold?" he breathed in her ear. His left hand joined the right one, gliding across her skin. 

"No," Linn managed. Not cold. Not. Not like anything. As one of his hands drifted passed her breast, she halted its further travels, catching it there. She tried stammering an explanation, "It just..." 

"Seems like it belongs there?" 

"Yes." She trembled again as his lips nipped at her throat. 

Suddenly, she sensed his hesitation, a slowing. Linn felt her body murmur a protest. "What's wrong?" 

Ben untangled one hand, and brought it to her chin, tilting it up so she looked ahead. "Oh!" she exclaimed. 

He hid his face at her neck. "It was a bit surprising." 

Linn stared at their dim reflection in the window. The woman she saw was a stranger. Who was this person? Disheveled. Barely clothed. Wrapped in a man's arms, eager, wanting. She saw a ripple under the oversized shirt, and realized, with a profound sense of dislocation that it was Ben's own hand that she could both feel, and see. 

She could no more look on it then Ben could. "We won't look then," she said, turning slightly away from the unfamiliar reflections. 

She felt him sigh. "I just hadn't realized how beautiful you are." 

"How do you always do that?" she marveled. Linn captured his hands, and brought them back under his shirt to continue where they had left off. 

It began slowly, a testing, gentle fondling. Linn felt her breathing begin to quicken, in time with the meter of his caresses. One hand still working her breast, Ben grabbed at her waist, pulling her tighter against him. An unconscious need, one she never even knew she had, warred with modest restraint. Need won. Linn pushed her hips against him; she felt him respond, and heard Ben's low moan in her ear. 

She brought her arms up, finding Ben's neck to tangle her fingers in his hair. As Linn moved her hands back, she felt one of his move slowly down. She started when when his fingers gently brushed a particularly sensitive spot. "Sorry," Ben whispered, loosening his grip on her as she went suddenly rigid in his arms. 

Linn quickly halted his retreat, catching his wrist and feeling a throbbing pulse there. Gods, what was she doing. She had no idea, only the sense that something was as it should be. "No, it..." 

Ben allowed her to guide his hand back. "Seems right?" 

Linn could barely nod, lost in the feelings that had somehow came alive with the touch. His fingers somehow found the same instinctive rhythm that she felt coursing through her. Her eyes slipped shut, blood rushing to her brain, ears pounding. She struggled against him, trying to control her gasping breath. Ben was driving her closer, propelling her to what she didn't know. It was terrifying, trying to hold out against the force of a current so foreign and wondrous. Finally, she succumbed, and with a final cry of surrender, flew apart in his arms. 

Her knees buckled and she sagged against him, limp. Ben gently eased her to floor and sank beside her. "Linn," she heard him groan. "I..." 

Linn pried her eyes open and exhaled the breath she had been holding for an age. She might have laughed if she had been able, for Ben certainly looked as stunned as she felt. 

Ben tried again. "I can't bel..." 

"Shhhh," she managed to blurt out. She couldn't say it. There weren't words in any language. Linn did the only she thing she could under the circumstances. She wrapped her hands about his neck and pulled him to her. Kissing him. Hard. Long enough to silence him. Long enough to tell him what they both now desperately wanted. Who cared about rug burns, anyway? 

Evidently Ben did. He suddenly rolled over, pulling her on top of him. The sudden movement sent the table crashing to the floor. Again. 

And again, it seemed to Linn, that somehow, they found the right fit, the right place. As Ben held her tightly about the waist, taking her now where he wanted to go, she caught their reflection in the window. And closed her eyes to the strangers she saw there. 


	3. Friend in Low Places

By Gheorghe2 and ginef

CHAPTER THREE - "Friends in Low Places" 

"Can I see another one? Pleeeease?" 

"That's up to Ben," Linn said from the modular couch she was sharing with Annie. 

Ben hit the pause on his battle sim game. Not that it particularly mattered. He'd beaten most of the scenarios already, but had not yet gotten so bored he was willing to join Linn and his Apprentice in another installment of "Captain Coruscant and the Defenders of Freedom". From Annie's tired whine of overstimulation, he thought that Linn had likely created a holovid addiction that was going to take him weeks of meditation to undo. It was also obvious that for Annie, although the spirit was willing, the body was rapidly approaching total exhaustion. 

He took a calculated risk. "One more, then bed, Annie." 

"How about the one where Captain Coruscant battles Torgorian pirates?" Linn offered. 

"Okay!" Annie sputtered enthusiastically. Linn manipulated a control from the couch. 

"In this one, Annie, the evil Torgorian pirates develop a superweapon that pierces suns and destroys whole star systems." 

And Captain Coruscant will save the universe without breaking a sweat and without so much as a hair out of place, Ben thought sourly, returning to his sim. Thinking his ground troops looked exposed, he sent in a squad of lower atmosphere fighters to provide air cover support. They arrived just in time to strafe a strike team that had somehow infiltrated the rear flank of the defensive perimeter. 

"Pierces suns?" Annie echoed. 

"Yes," Ben heard Linn respond as the theme music began blaring for the seventh time since they had boarded The Roncardi. Their intended early start to Sacorria had not materialized, a loss Ben was not particularly begrudging. They had had a long wait to get their clearance out of Coronet, but Annie had made good use of the time by plundering Linn's appallingly large collection of holovid recordings. 

"Can it go through ships, too?" Annie asked. 

"It certainly can," Linn affirmed. 

"Can it..." 

Ben looked up as the volume of the vid faded to a muted hum. Annie was slumped over into a pillow on the couch, eyes shut. 

"Good decision," Linn said softly. "He fell asleep in mid-sentence." 

Ben shut off the sim, having just delivered another devastating win for the defenders of truth and justice. He rose, and crossed over to the couch. "He'll be out until we land," he said, scooping Annie up. 

Linn glanced at her wrist chron. "We won't hit Sacorria for another 5 hours. The nap will do him good." 

Ben hurried down the hall and deposited his young charge on his bunk. Gently he removed the child's boots and pulled a blanket up over him. Returning to the cabin, he found Linn gathering up the holos which were scattered all over the floor and attempting to return them to their respective cases. 

Ben settled himself silently into a chair to watch her. She was so... beautiful sounded trite, but regardless, he couldn't keep his eyes or his hands, for that matter, off of her. Even now, crawling around on the floor in one of Dar's old flightsuits, with her hair pulled back in an elastic, she was more enticing to him than any woman he'd seen in the holomags occasionally smuggled into the Temple by his fellow apprentices. 

What he really wanted to do was grab Linn and drag her off to her cabin. But he was on her ship. Her territory. He wasn't sure if the rules had changed. When she reached back slowly to rub at her neck, he had to check his sharp intake of breath. 

"Wanna watch a holo?" Linn asked, peeking over her shoulder at him. Her sly look let him know he'd been busted staring. 

"Uh, sure, what have you got?" 

"Let's see," she replied, getting up and heading toward the entertainment center. She dropped the disks back in their slot and scanned for other titles. "We have every game the Chad Marauders ever played." She turned and gave him a sad smile. "Those were Dar's." 

He nodded. "Qui-Gon used to take me to see the Raiders whenever they were on Coruscant. He was mad for smashball too." 

"But not you?" 

Ben smiled. "I was just happy to see him so enthusiastic about something. He became," he searched for the word, "enthralled." 

"I know exactly what you mean," she laughed and then turned her attention back to the holos. "What kind do you like? Action? Drama? Comedy? Sports?" 

"Anything so long as it isn't Captain Coruscant," he replied as he joined her in front of the shelves. Something caught his eye, a decorative little box. "What's this?" he asked, picking it up. 

"Dar's lucky sabacc cards," Linn said, taking them and popping the box open to display the cards. "You play?" 

"No," Ben said slowly. "Care to teach me?" 

"How many credits you got to lose, fly boy?" she shot back with a smile. Linn took the cards and headed toward the table. 

Ben followed. "You already have all of my credits," he pointed out. 

Linn sat down, rubbing her chin in contemplation. "Hmmm... we'll have to think of something else you can use as collateral then." She looked him up and down, slowly, thoroughly. "Turn around." 

"What?" He didn't need to read her emotions to comprehend the direction of her thoughts. Ben complied, turning in a complete circle. 

"I'm rather fond of your trousers, how about if I play you for those?" 

He was **not** going to blush. "My trousers?" he questioned. "I thought you wanted my shirt." 

She effected a serious frown. "True. I did get rather attached to one of your shirts last night. If I win, I'll take the one you're wearing too." 

"And what do I get in exchange, should I win?" 

"What do you want?" she asked with a coy smile. 

Oh, what a loaded question. He elected to start small. "The flightsuit." 

"We do need an even pot, though," Linn said. 

"The flightsuit then, and whatever is underneath." 

He was pleased. Linn was blushing now, too. Despite the outrageous flirtation, Ben knew he was still battling a certain residual disbelief over the whole situation. It was reassuring to know that Linn was prone to the same bouts embarrassment that he was. 

"How about this," she managed to propose. "Every time you lose a hand, I get an item of your clothing." 

"And I get the same?" 

She nodded, and extended her hand, palm up. "Deal?" 

Ben placed his atop of hers, sealing the bargain. 

Ben took a seat across from her. "Aren't you worried I'll play to lose?" 

Linn removed the cards from the box. "But if I win all the hands, what good will that do you?" 

"Isn't that something you should be asking yourself?" he teased. 

Linn turned an even brighter shade of pink and looked away, becoming absorbed in shuffling the cards. It was something she did as an escape, he thought. Ben leaned forward and squeezed her hand. She swiftly smiled, then was all business. 

"Here's how it works. There are a total of 76 cards - 16 face cards and 60 others split among four suits." 

"Suits?" Ben asked. 

"Yes, staves, sabers, coins and cups. Each of these cards is assigned a number value between 1 and 15. The idea is to reach 23 points without going over." 

"How much are the face cards worth?" 

"Between 0 and negative 8." 

Ben nodded. "And how many cards do we each get?" 

"Two to start with. Let me tell you about the pots. Usually, we'd have a Hand Pot and the Sabacc Pot. Someone wins the Hand Pot every round. Normally we'd be adding to both pots at the start of each round and adding credits as we bet to the Hand Pot. In our case, the Hand Pot will equal the loss of one item of clothing." 

"Agreed," Ben said, really warming to the game. "What's the Sabacc Pot?" 

"The Sabacc Pot normally grows and grows until some lucky bugger gets a twenty-three dead on." 

He pretended serious concern. "Well, we will have to change that rule. We don't want to be putting our earnings back on, do we?" 

Linn rolled her eyes. "For our rules, if one of us gets twenty-three, then..." 

"Then the other loses two articles of clothing." Ben thought the idea was personally brilliant, and more likely to bring him to his "lucky hand" that much quicker. 

She nodded her agreement. "Very well, two articles." 

Ben was anxious to get underway. "Alright. So what happens next? After we get our cards?" 

Linn stood up and headed for the galley. "Where are you going?" Ben called after her. "Have I scared you off already?" 

Linn laughed as she rustled around in the cabinets and refrigeration unit. "Hardly," she replied, coming back to her seat at the table bearing two bottles of ale and a bowl full of some sort of nut. "Supplies. Can't play sabacc without them. It's in the rules." 

She popped open both bottles and set one in front of Ben. "We elect, in turn, to stay in or fold. But if you fold, you lose, keep that in mind. After that we each decide whether to hold and call the round, take another card, or place one of our cards at the bottom of the deck and take a new one. Don't forget if you go over 23 and the round is called, you've bombed out and lose." 

"Bombed out?" Ben laughed. 

"Hey, I didn't make up the names," she replied with a grin. 

"Sounds easy enough." He then picked up the ale, sniffed it and gingerly took a sip. "Hmmm, that's not entirely bad." 

"There's just one more thing..." 

"What's that?" 

"The cards can change faces on you in the middle of the round. Watch out for that." 

"Change? That hardly seems fair." 

Linn laughed as she dealt them each two cards. "This is sabacc. Who ever said anything about fair?" 

Ben studied his cards. A cup with a nine on it and face card with a minus eight. He peered over his cards at her. She looked smug. He made the conscious decision to stay out of her mind for the duration of the game. It only seemed sporting. 

"You go first, since I dealt," Linn explained. 

Ben bit his lip. "I think I'd like to put this card," he said, sliding the negative card under the deck, "away and have a new one." 

She nodded and he drew a new one. A cup with a 15 on it. Ha! He had her! He looked back at Linn, trying not to smile. 

"You have a terrible sabacc face," she informed him, and drew another card for herself. "What do you want to do?" 

"Uh, call?" he asked. 

"Okay, what do you have?" 

Ben looked back at his cards. The 8 had turned into a 12 while he hadn't been paying attention. "Blast!" he swore as he dropped his cards to the table. "It changed on me!" 

Linn laughed. "Hand over your pants!" she demanded and took a sip of her ale. 

"At least let me start with a boot," Ben complained. 

Linn laughed even harder. "I'll take pity on you. This time." 

Thirteen rounds later, the small table was littered with ale bottles, empty nutshells and various items of clothing. Ben thought he was finally getting the hang of it. True, he'd lost both boots and socks, his belt, his tunic and his undershirt, but Linn had lost her boots and socks, wrist chron, holster, and her hair tie, which he'd allowed after protest. If she'd hurry up before his cards changed on him, he had a good hand. She finally finished her move. 

"Call," he said quickly. 

Ben tossed his cards to the table. 21. Linn eyed his hand, pursed her lips and dropped her own cards in disgust. "Time to pay up, sweetheart," he told her. "Flightsuit." 

He leaned back in the chair in anticipation. Having worked hard for this, he was prepared to enjoy the show. And embarrassment or no, he was **not** going to call for a dimming of the cabin lights, either. After all, there were still a few more hands to be played, and they needed to see the deck, right? 

"You don't have to rub it in," Linn responded, rising from her seat. 

"I intend to do more than that," Ben promised. 

He should have known that Linn would have her revenge. She put her hands to her throat and manipulated the topmost fastener to free the zipper. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, she worked the zipper down her body. 

Ben felt his mouth go dry. Why, of all the faults to have, was impatience the most prominent of his? "Need help?" he offered, a little breathlessly. 

Linn smirked at him. "I think I've got it." She pulled the garment off one shoulder, letting it glide down her arm. Then she slipped it off the other shoulder. The suit slid off her body. She stood in the folds of it, arms clasped about her front protectively. Gracefully, she stepped out of the blue puddle of fabric. With a well placed toe, she tossed the suit in his general direction. Then, Linn primly sat down and slid her cards to him for the next round. 

His eyes were riveted on her. As he picked up the deck to shuffle, he had to fight an overwhelming desire to cheat and get that 23. Forget the Dark Side. No trial had ever involved seeing Linn Darrow in only the merest of scraps of clothing stretched across her torso. Her choice of undergarments was completely utilitarian, utterly ordinary, and on her, unbelievably erotic. The thin white fabric clung to her body, and was held in place only by the barest of skinny straps and the curves underneath which supported it. Modest on the top, cut very high on the bottom, it left everything and nothing to the imagination. 

In the eagerness of the previous nights, he had missed this whole anticipatory aspect of the experience. Maybe patience, and adequate lighting, were virtues. 

Ben picked up the deck to shuffle, hoping for a 23. He dealt quickly, snatching up his cards. A saber with a nine and a stave with a ten. Not bad. He snuck a look at Linn. She was studying her cards intently, rubbing her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger. He dropped his cards and scrambled to pick them up. Linn lifted an amused eyebrow at him. 

"Call," she said and laid her cards on the table. "Sabacc!" she exclaimed triumphantly. 

Ben hung his head in defeat, never more thrilled to have lost anything. He quickly rose, quite eager to give Linn the pot she had won. But before he could start his own variation on the disrobing her efforts had inspired, Linn claimed her prize. 

She swiftly stood and wrapped her fingers around his. "Since I've beaten the pants off you, allow me," she whispered and went to work removing them. She slowly slid the material over his hips and down until they ended up in a pool around his ankles. He stepped out of them. "And for Sabacc, I get one more piece of clothing," she reminded him, tugging at the only remaining article left on him. They quickly joined his trousers in a heap on the floor. 

He grabbed her and pulled her to him for a long kiss. 

"Are you going to wait for me to win another hand before this comes off of you?" he asked, plucking at the thin strap digging into her shoulder. By way of answer, she ground closer to him and he peeled away the second skin clinging to her body. 

His patience, already sorely tested, snapped. Ben picked her up and set her on the table. He reached behind her and swept everything off the table with the pass of one arm. The brightly colored sabacc cards scattered everywhere, like confetti all over the seats and deck, followed by ale bottles and nuts which clattered to the floor. 

"Ben!" Linn laughed as he joined her on the table, pushing her down. "You're making a mess. You're-" The rest of the protest never made it out of her mouth. 

*** 

Sacorria was a dirty, dusty, outer world at the edge of the Corellian sector. Dorthus Tal, the planetary capital, was as charmless. A step up from Tatooine, but not by much, Ben thought. 

Annie was oblivious and completely enthralled by the climbing and running opportunities in the city center's "World Famous" Stone Square. Famous in a world famous for nothing. 

"Why would she come here?" Ben asked Linn. 

Linn was studying the names of the cantinas and shops ringing the square. "She probably went as far as her credits would take her." Linn tilted her head to one side, indicating a sign printed in Basic, and two scripts he didn't recognize. He supposed they were Drall and Selonian. "She wanted to get off Corellia, and this is the only other place in the system where there's much inter-species mixing." Linn pivoted, scanning the storefronts for the improbably named 'Dancing Drall.' "And there's a small but active smuggling operation here. A Twi'lek would easily find work." 

Annie ran up, scattering the birds hopping about the square. "Is it going to rain?" 

"I'm afraid the skies look pretty clear," Linn said, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

Annie tilted his head up to confirm the disappointing report. "Could we go to the moon, then?" he demanded. 

"Moon?" Ben repeated. 

"Didn't you read Linn's file, Ben?" Annie affected immense superiority with the implication that he had been better prepared than his Master. 

Ben had familiarized himself with the backgrounder, but the Sacorrian moon was, to his mind, no more interesting than the planet it orbited. 

Linn laughed and took the boy's hand. "You want to see the graveyard, don't you, Annie?" 

"Yeah!" 

Ben fell in step with them. Annie again looked skyward, evidently hoping for some glimpse of Sarcophagus, the moon where Sacorrians interred their dead. 

"Probably not this trip, Annie," Ben said. 

Annie grabbed Ben's hand, and began pulling on his and Linn's arms, swinging between them. "So we're going to come back here, Ben?" 

A Padawan, Ben reminded himself, should ask questions, even when there were no answers. And after the last few days with Linn, Ben had been asking himself the same questions, and stumbling over the same unfathomable answers. 

Linn glanced at him, shyly. Seemingly innocuous, it was enough to send a warm flush through him. Yes, he had been delving into a particular aspect of the living Force lately, and the only future he had been particularly mindful of were those places in time which he would be occupying with Linn. 

It was Linn who finally answered the boy's question. "There's not much reason to come to Sacorria, Annie." 

Inexplicably, irrationally, Ben suddenly wondered, why not come back? It was not inconceivable. For all he knew, a giant starkiller machine could pop up in the Corellian sector and the Jedi would be mobilized against the threat. Anakin would come with him, as Ben had gone on such missions with Qui-Gon. And Linn? True, she bribed law enforcement officials, downed spirits the way a drive consumed fuel, and was on a first name basis with the dregs of the galaxy's fringe. But, she had a ship. She could handle a blaster. She... 

Annie's impatience interrupted this fanciful reasoning. He tugged on Ben and Linn's arms, pulling himself up off the ground. "Are we there yet?" 

"Over there, Annie," Linn said, pointing. The exterior of the Dancing Drall was every bit as preposterous as its name. An animated neon lit Drall indeed danced with jerky movements on the top of the bar's marquee. 

Annie frowned, like Ben, apparently trying to correlate the incongruous image. "I don't think Dralls dance, do they, Linn?" 

She laughed. "No, Annie. They don't. And that's the point. It's someone's idea of a bad joke." 

Linn had not objected to Ben's suggestion that he and Anakin join her. It was about time. Ben had little patience for the slow combination of bargaining and bribery Linn was showing an inclination to use. He had other methods available, ones that worked far more quickly. The sooner they found Bela, and extracted what she knew, the sooner he would again be with Linn ... and the purloined transmissions, Ben amended. 

Once they entered the Dancing Drall, Ben focused in the Force to search for a being who might be Bela. He easily found a Twi'lek. Female, he thought. Linn and Annie were ahead of him and already being seated at a table. He hurried to catch up. 

Ben slid into the seat next to Annie. "I think I saw..." he began. 

Linn interrupted him. "Bela is working today and will be waiting on us." 

He blinked. "How...?" 

Linn shrugged. "It only took twenty credits against your card to the greeter." 

A holo menu popped in the center of the table. Annie began busily pressing buttons and commands. "Look!" he exclaimed. The menu began spewing options in Basic at the speed of a smuggler on a spice run. 

"How very clever," a green-skinned Twi'lek said in passable Basic. 

"Don't encourage him," Ben grumbled. 

Annie immediately removed his hands from the rotating and now singing menu and placed them demurely in his lap. 

"I am Bela," she said. "How may I serve?" 

"Water!" Annie announced with the enthusiasm that other children might have had when seeking sweets. "With bubbles and a straw." Ben could just imagine the carnage. 

Linn, Ben noted, made the point of ensuring that she had Bela's complete attention before she placed her order. "I'd like a Rodian Shooter." Linn then, quite deliberately, drew out a small package and set it on the table, in front of Bela. "And I'll need a light for these." 

Ben had no idea what a Rodian Shooter was, apart from a terrible pun. But Bela clearly knew that Linn was asking for more than a drink. The shock of her recognition rolled across the table. He noted that Annie too, had picked up the strong emotional current. 

Bela licked her lips, exposing the sharp teeth of her race. She nodded quickly, headtails bobbing, turned hurriedly, and headed to the back of the restaurant. In her agitation, she unfortunately, did not take Ben's order. 

"So much for her tip," Ben murmured. 

"I don't think she's going to tell you anything," Annie said unexpectedly. "She's very scared." 

Ben shot Annie a look he thought his Apprentice would understand. He approved of the boy's assessment and wanted to encourage this intuition. He just wished Annie was a bit more discrete in his observations. 

"What did you do?" Ben asked Linn. 

Linn was thoughtfully studying Bela, who was now studiously avoiding them the way every waitress suspicious of a lousy tip would. "Sly used to smoke these," she said, gesturing to the box on the table. 

"And drank Rodian Shooters?" 

Linn nodded. "She's wondering who we are now. With the two of you here, looking like the good galaxy scouts that you are, she'll assume we aren't dangerous." 

Annie giggled. 

Bela returned and set the drinks down. "I don't know who killed Sly," she said flatly, signifying the beginning and end of the conversation. 

Linn lifted up the package. Underneath it was a 200-credit piece. She slid it to Bela. 

The Twi'lek stared at the money, and Ben sensed that she did waver, but not far enough. 

Ben dropped his hand under the table as Bela turned to him. "I'm sorry, sir, what can I provide for you?" 

He had her mental pattern now. She was weak, very frightened, poor, and greedy. With a little training, Annie could have done this. "Can you provide us with information?" he asked, prodding her in the Force. 

"I can provide you with information," Bela volunteered. 

Before Linn could react to the astonishing offer, Ben pressed on. "Can you tell us if there is a copy of the data disk Sly sold?" 

Bela picked up Linn's 200-credit piece and slipped it into a pocket at her thigh. "I can tell you that Sly did not keep a copy of the data disk." 

Linn was obviously perplexed, but moved quickly to exploit this unexpected volubility. "Maybe someone else has a copy of the disk," Linn said. "Where did Sly get it from?" 

Ben felt he found the lever that would move Bela. He pushed, hard. 

"Sly was under contract when he got the disk." Bela said. "He was working for someone else." 

"Who?" Linn pressed. 

"A broker from Ralltiir," Bela said, bringing her hand to her forehead. The pain was undoubtedly due to the wincing mental pressure Ben was applying. 

"Gibbon?" Linn asked sharply. 

Bela nodded and Ben released her. He sensed she was able to give them nothing more. She looked about, dazed. "Wha??" she began. 

"And I'll have a fruit juice," Ben said to Bela. 

"Of course, sir." As she bobbed off, Ben saw that Linn was still frowning, watching the strange-behaving Twi'lek closely. 

Annie let out a sudden whoop. "Look, Linn," he shouted, and proceeded to blow very large bubbles through his straw. 

*** 

Linn peeked her head out of her cabin and heard Ben and Annie's muted voices from the room they were sharing aft. 

"Annie, I am not telling you again. It's time for bed." Linn smiled at the exasperation in Ben's voice. "Brush your teeth. Now." 

"Would you say there's a seventy percent chance of rain on Ralltiir?" came Annie's reply. 

"Anakin," Ben warned. 

"Fifty percent chance?" the child persisted. 

Relieved they were otherwise occupied, she pulled her shirt a bit tighter around her and made for the Ron's central cabin. She hadn't wanted Annie to see her in her nightshirt if she could help it; and except under the right circumstances, she really wasn't all that keen on Ben seeing her like this either. Irrational certainly, but there it was. A lifetime of modesty wasn't undone in a week. 

In the galley, she opened the liquor cabinet and began shuffling through the choices. Linn finally opted for the Reserve. She held up the cut crystal bottle, swirling its golden contents. Too bad she hadn't noticed they were running low when they had been in Coronet. She'd have to remember to pick up another bottle when they were on Ralltiir. There was a great shop near Gralllia she and Dar used a lot. 

She opened a drawer, grabbed two cups, set them on the narrow counter, and sloshed three fingerfuls into each glass. And then caught herself. Damn. Linn stared at the glass. She had done it again. Shutting her eyes, she leaned heavily against the counter, gripping her fingers to its smooth surface for support. Damn. Dar, why did you have to take this contract? If Rog knew it was too hot, you certainly did. Why'd you take the chance? Things were fine. A bit tight, but fine. 

Exhaling a deep breath, Linn forced herself to look reality in the eye. She brought her drink to her lips for a single sip. The liquor shook in the glass, held by a hand that was trembling. Damn. Of all the brokers in the galaxy, why did it have to be Gibbon who had hired Sly? Why did it have to start on Ralltiir? Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn them all. 

She wanted to drain her drink, and the one she had poured automatically for her dead father. Then she wanted to finish the whole bottle and start on the next and keep going until the Ron ran out of fuel or she ran out of booze. 

Linn fled the temptation and bolted back to her cabin. They hit Ralltiir tomorrow and she needed a clear head for it. There was still a lot of work to do. She had left the other glass in the galley, not being quite able either to toss it out or pour it back into the bottle. Maybe Ben would drink it. Sure. Right. When Banthas fly. 

The evening called for some serious music. Something Dar hated. If it weren't blaring in her ears, Linn would be too tempted to bang her head on her desk. She folded herself into the desk chair and swiveled around to her audio collection. Black Hole. It must be in their early, rebellious years, no less, when dissonance had been an art form. Dar had *despised* them. Perfect. 

Linn slipped the headphones over her ears, not really worried about disasters in hyperspace. Years ago, she had run every ship alarm through her audio equipment. If something ever yanked the Ron out of hyperspace, she'd know about it immediately. Concededly, she'd probably end up deaf too, as Dar had warned. 

Dar. Damn him. 

She picked up her datapad again and began combing through the Ralltiir file. 

"It's the emptiness that follows you down; it's the ache inside when it all burns out," Linn sang along, tapping along with the rhythm on the pad. 

She nearly flew out of her seat when a hand landed on her shoulder. She slammed the datapad down, ripped off the headphones, and spun around in her desk chair. "Don't you ever ** knock**!" she shouted. 

Ben had sprung back to avoid getting flailed. "I **did** knock, Linn. There's no need to yell." 

"I'm not yelling," she shouted back, then stopped as the words, IT'S breath frozen your of terrified too left; have you all that's emptiness the it's breaks; it when had everything blared from the headphones she had flung to the floor. She probably looked as chastened as she felt. "Oh. Sorry. I guess I had the music on a little loud." 

"I hadn't realized that audio disks had a stun setting," Ben remarked. Apparently deeming it safe to approach, he stepped forward to give her the glass she had left in the galley. "I thought you might have left this..." He trailed off as his eyes spied the full glass already on her desk. 

She picked up her drink and toasted him. "To my mental health, sir. It's only the second time in three days I've done that." 

Obliging her, Ben clinked her glass, but eyed the contents warily. "What is it?" 

"Corellian Brandy. House of Jezadok. It's a 25 year Reserve." 

"Of course. I should have recognized it immediately," Ben said with a smirk. He sniffed the glass. "It smells vile." 

"But it tastes wonderful. It will put hair on your chest." 

"As you well know, I already have hair on my chest." Ben glanced around, took the few steps backwards necessary to traverse her narrow cabin, and sat down on the bunk, carefully setting the drink on the recessed ledge at the headboard. He pried his boots off, letting them slip to the deck. He then scooted into the bed, leaned back against the hull, stretched out his legs, retrieved his drink, and surveyed the domain. 

"Make yourself at home," Linn commented. 

"Thank you. I intended to, but an invitation is always welcome." Ben did take a sip. He winced. Noticeably. "I would note that you are occupying the only chair in the room." 

"There's the deck," Linn offered helpfully. 

"When I've not yet recovered from the rug burns? You heartless smuggler." 

"I'm a broker, not a smuggler." 

"Indeed you are," Ben said slowly, taking another sip. He didn't wince quite so much this time. "I misspoke." 

Linn exhaled an aggravated breath. She retrieved the data pad, curled her legs up in the chair again, and rested her chin on her knee as her Ralltiir databank slowly scrolled by. "I suppose that's the question, isn't it?" 

"I can see why you are wondering, but, Linn, how could you be anything else? You were born to this path." 

"Path?" Linn echoed. "Born to be a broker? That's terribly philosophical." 

She thought he flushed a little, and noted that Ben became engrossed in taking another sip of a drink he obviously didn't enjoy very much. "I'm sorry," Linn said. "I didn't mean to be argumentative. I just tend to think that paths and destinies don't have much to do with how we make our own luck." 

"No, there's no need to apologize. But I wouldn't say that luck has much to do it with it either. You've been brokering all your life. Isn't it who you are?" 

When she didn't respond, Ben glanced away, and began picking idly at the coverlet on her bed. Linn mulled not so much the message, but that he had delivered it at all. It seemed as if Ben really believed this destiny talk. But it also didn't seem to be the Ben she knew who was talking. Linn suddenly remembered that she really didn't know him all that well. 

She tossed the pad on her desk and stretched, running her fingers through her hair with frustration. "All I know is that given the amount of time I've spent looking at all this, if I don't have it by now, I never will." 

Ben shifted, crossing his legs. He did seem awfully comfortable where he was. "Under that reasoning, there's no benefit to experience, or trial and error." 

"But, wouldn't you feel better if I wasn't playing trial and error with something that might tell you who murdered Qui-Gon?" Linn responded bitterly. 

She blinked back tears stinging in her eyes. To cover, she unfolded from the chair and stooped down to retrieve her headphones still blaring. Annoyed at the lapse, she shoved the baggy sleeve of her shirt up her arm, reached to the audio controls and abruptly switched them off. Silence engulfed the room. 

"Linn..." she heard Ben say softly. Intent on returning the audio disk to its cartridge, she was prepared to ignore him, until he said again, and more firmly, "Linn!" 

"What?" she growled. 

"In your heart, in your mind, do you really believe that Dar would be able to do a better job?" 

"I don't know. No... Well, maybe," Linn finally concluded, annoyed at how indecisive she must appear. At last, she expressed her frustration, "I just wish Dar had let me pick when I was going to take over his business." She curled again into her protective ball on the chair. 

"That you could have become co-equals first, before you were in charge," he said. 

"Exactly," Linn replied. 

"I know precisely what you mean," he sighed and took another sip of the drink. 

Linn smiled at his effort. "Doesn't it improve at all?" 

"Some." Ben studied the glass, swirling it about. "I was just thinking about how you wished you had had some say in when circumstance forced this on you." The next sip was a more significant draught. "I keep thinking the same thing about Anakin. That Qui-Gon should have been his teacher, not me. That I'm not really ready for this responsibility." 

"You seem to do fine with him," she assured him. 

He shrugged. "Perhaps. But a great deal rests on my ability to train him properly. Qui-Gon would have been better suited to the challenge," he said. "I can't even get him to brush his teeth and go to bed on time let alone ... well, I suppose if wishes were fishes as they say." 

Linn nodded. "It just seems like an impossible task. How can either of us possibly take their place?" 

"We can't." Ben kicked his feet out, knocking over one boot that was hanging ludicrously limp on the deck. "Anymore than we can fill their boots." He must have noticed the odd expression that fell crossed her face. "What is it?" 

Shrugging, Linn pulled her arms up into a stretch, locking her fingers together, then throwing her arms open. "Just your choice of words. I've been wearing Dar's cast-offs all my life." She pulled at her shirtfront to illustrate the point. "I didn't think I could show up on Ralltiir like that, and not be taken as anything other than 'Dar's girl'. So I bought a couple things on Sacorria." She smiled, feeling a little wistful. "I realized when you said that why I did it." 

"You couldn't fill his place anymore than you could fill his clothes," Ben finished quietly. 

Linn felt anew a gush of appreciation. How could he be more perceptive? She nodded. "Maybe it's the same with Qui-Gon. You can't be him anymore than I can be Dar." 

"We both have to fill our own shoes, not theirs?" Ben concluded, staring down at his drink. 

Lin nodded. "Something like that." She dropped a leg down from the chair and let it dangle. 

Ben's eyes snapped up. He took another sip, more measured she thought, and eventually said, "So that's where you went when you disappeared yesterday? Shopping?" 

"Yes." 

Linn didn't think she was imagining his intent regard. As another long silence drew out, she began to squirm in her seat. 

He finally announced, "Well, I, for one, appreciate the results now." 

She laughed. "Ben, only you would think that an old men's shirt was the result of a shopping excursion." 

"If they aren't sold, they should be. It's very provocative." 

"Provocative?" Linn was amused. "I can't believe that." 

He smiled and leaned back in her bed, cradling the drink. "But it is. And that's the even better part of this. You have been extremely provocative during this whole conversation. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a terrible tease." 

"That must be the brandy talking!" Linn exclaimed, feeling the need for another draught herself. 

"Shall I give you examples?" 

"Certainly." 

"Your leg," Ben said, smirking as if she had just proved his point. "Look at it." 

Linn glanced down. Her right leg was draped over the arm of her chair, swinging. 

"Sitting here, seeing your leg, Linn, I think about how it disappears under the folds of that shirt. How much further does your leg go before it meets your hip? Just how long is the inside of your thigh under there?" 

She knew she was blushing. And she **knew** he was enjoying it. Linn swung her leg over and tucked it back underneath her. "You had other examples?" 

Ben nodded. "When you turned off your audio. You had to push the sleeve up your arm and bend over to pick up the headphones. It caused the shirt to gap and ride up higher, leaving me to wonder what, if anything, you were wearing underneath it." 

The blush was turning scarlet, she knew. "I haven't done anything," Linn protested. "All I've done is sit here and try to read my Ralltiir file and--" 

"That's my point," Ben said, interrupting her. "You aren't doing any of this deliberately. If you were, the effect would be lost. When you pull your arms up over your head, you aren't thinking about what it does to the line of your neck, or the arch in your back, or..." 

"Stop it!" Linn ordered, feeling acutely self-conscious. It must be the liquor, she thought. "You've made it perfectly plain that you like me best when I'm doing absolutely nothing at all." 

Ben set his drink down. The glass was mostly empty, she noticed. "I wouldn't limit it to the unintentional things you do." 

"Oh?" Linn asked archly. "How can I possibly top doing nothing?" 

Ben held out his hand, beckoning her in. "I'd have to show you." 

Linn unwrapped herself from the chair, already feeling a bit warm in the close cabin. She approached warily, but the precaution was futile. Ben suddenly sprang forward like a charge out of a blaster. He grabbed her by the arms, and yanked her onto the bed with him. 

Linn found herself lying mostly across his lap. "Finally!" he announced with satisfaction. For verification, he slid his hand from her leg, up, under the shirt, all the way to her shoulder, then back down. "I didn't **think** there was anything else under here." 

She tried, unsuccessfully, not to squirm. "Could you sound any more smug with that discovery?" 

"Possibly." 

"You were going to tell me other things you found..." Linn started to remind him, having nearly forgotten it herself. 

"Alluring," he finished for her. 

"Right." 

"And no," Ben corrected. "I was going to show you." He bent over and kissed her lightly. He tasted of the mellow liquor. "And, I'm **not** drunk, just in case you're wondering," he added. Actually, she had been wondering precisely that. "At least," he amended, "not on brandy." 

He began peeling away the shirt from her shoulder with one hand, deftly undoing the top few buttons with the other. "Linn, I want you to think of my mouth as..." he pretended great absence of thought. Finally, it seemed to come to him. "A ship." 

"A ship?" she repeated. 

"A ship." 

He's been sitting here, plotting this the whole time, she realized. 

Ben continued, however improbably. "And your body is a series of hyperspace lanes." 

She snorted. And then gasped as he bent down to kiss the hollow of her throat. 

"Places like this one," Ben said softly, mouthing the skin, "are transfer points. Seemingly innocuous in and of themselves, but most interesting for where they take me." He stopped to deliver a reprimand. "Stop squirming, Linn. It may impede my navigation." 

"Navigation?" Linn squealed, trying to turn in his lap. 

"Now, see what you've done?" With her turn, Ben had pushed the shirt up, taking her arm with him, and leaned into her again to plant another soft kiss 

"That's my armpit!" 

"Correction," he muttered through a series of kisses on the sensitive skin there. "It's a transfer point. And from here, I can go, well, just about anywhere." 

Linn was trying very hard not to twist about. With one of her arms still firmly in his, he wasn't giving her much wriggling room. And besides, Ben was, she thought, already enjoying this far too much to embark on a wrestling match. On the other hand... an idea formed. "If you're the ship and the navigator, can I at least captain the vessel?" 

He glanced up and through their tangle of arms. "What course?" 

"Over a few centimeters to the right," Linn commanded, giggling. "And the same distance down." 

"Roger, roger, captain." 

Ben had no difficulty with the minimal obstacles which remained; practice had made him more adept at the buttons and other fastenings on her clothing. The ship was then able to navigate unimpeded to its first destination. 

"How convenient," she murmured into his ear. 

"Two ports so close to each other?" he asked, moving his ship from left to right. 

Linn pulled her arms back over her head, stretching across the length of the bed. An appreciative mumble from Ben made her think that he too valued the benefits of a taut ... uh... landscape for his fly-over. She gave up trying to still her squirming; Ben lightly held her in place, wrapping one hand in hers. The other hand joined his mouth, a fleet docking at twin ports. Linn heard a sound, and in the haze of sensation, realized it was her own breathing, soft and shallow. It all simply felt too good to bear, and each moment it lasted was better than the last. Did he feel that way, she wondered. 

Ben was saying something. "Hmmm?" she said, opening her eyes. Linn felt his fingers continue to trace an intricate landing pattern. 

"What I like most about these final destinations is that I enjoy it as much as you seem to." 

Linn sighed. Well, that answered **that** question. "Carry on navigator." 

He did. But, feeling one hand sneaking like a thief down her waist and across her stomach was enough for the captain to call for a course change. Linn grabbed the errant hand by the wrist, pulled it up, and rolled Ben over on to his back, neatly pinning him under her. 

"Just **what** were you trying to do?" she growled. 

Ben drew his brows together, affecting mock confusion and hurt. "Traveling down a hyperspace lane?" he offered hopefully. 

Linn kissed the wrist she had captured. "Nope. Sorry. The Captain wants to do some sightseeing." 

Now the confusion was real. "Sightseeing?" 

She nodded. "To my favorite places. Not listed in any galaxy guide. But so attractive, this not so casual tourist has to visit them again and again." Linn was rather pleased with herself to have come up with something so clever even in the very real heat of the moment. 

Drawing him up, she pulled Ben's shirt over his head. "This tourist doesn't want anything blocking her view of the Northern hemisphere." What covered the Southern hemisphere tourist sites was as easily discarded. He leaned back into the bed, putting an arm behind his head. The other hand, he kept quite firmly wrapped about her waist, another favored ploy she understood now. 

Linn wriggled free and lay halfway across him. She stretched forward, and propped on her hands, leaned in for a very thorough kiss. When he melted into her lips, she pulled back. "Favorite tourist attraction number one: smug smile. Now, not so smug." She moved down a little more, and mouthed his chin. "Favorite tourist attraction number two." 

"My chin?" he asked, his voice raising incredulously. 

"The cleft," she corrected, dragging her lips across his throat, she found the birthmark there. "And favorite tourist attraction number three." 

"That's really odd, Linn." 

"Do you want me to stop?" she teased, nipping his throat gently. 

"No," he conceded. She noticed that despite the protest, Ben had arched his neck so that she might cover the area more thoroughly. 

"Then be quiet. You're spoiling my appreciation of the sites." 

Linn moved up to begin nibbling his ear. "Favorite site number four." She then began working down his shoulder. A little sadly, she passed the still healing scorch mark, and went on. Ben tried reaching for her, but she halted the advance, again trapping his hand. From his shoulder, Linn extended his arm. Her lips met the skin slowly; she eased her way along his arm, to the inside of his elbow, forearms, and then wrist. "Oh, sorry," she apologized, not sorry at all. "What number was that?" 

"Five," Ben breathed. 

She smiled. Ben always seemed so in command of himself. She knew the effect he had on her. It was nice to see that she could move him the same way. She slid down a little bit and, looking for a purchase, her hand connected too abruptly with the headboard. Ben's discarded brandy glass flew off the shelf. She did manage to move quickly enough to shield him, but not before the cup upended on her shoulder. It emptied its contents down her front, then bounced off the bed and under her desk. 

Linn rolled away, mortified, pulling her now soggy shirt with her. "What was the word you used to describe this?" she asked into her pillow. 

"Provocative?" Ben said. She could **hear** how hilarious he thought this was. 

"I was actually thinking 'pathetic' was more apt." 

She felt his very firm hand on her shoulder as he attempted to turn her back to him. "Don't be so sure." 

Linn struggled to the edge of the bed, intending to beat a retreat. "I'm going to change, wash up, maybe put on foul weather gear." 

"Don't do that, Linn," Ben said. He was trying to catch her eye, but Linn looked away, trying to escape his attentions. Why wouldn't he just let her go? 

"Linn!" he said again, more persistently. With his finger on her jaw, bringing her face to his, he forced her to look at him. 

"What?" Linn grumbled. 

Ben didn't say anything. She saw, and felt his eyes flicker over her. Linn pushed against him again, feeling irritated and very foolish. He shook his head, just slightly. "Don't." 

"Don't what?" she muttered, relenting, but not knowing to what. 

Ben leaned down, delivering an easy kiss. His fingers went to her shirt, pulling it away from where it clung to her body. She nearly leaped out of her damp skin when his mouth left hers to work down her throat, following the path the brandy had taken. 

It was impossible. The shame that it had happened now gave way to the secret thrill that it had. Linn allowed him to draw her back into the bed. The kisses down her body were smooth tastings, languorous, as the sampling of a fine vintage. The liquor had gone everywhere over her, and now, so did he. 

"Ben," she finally managed, guiding his teasing mouth to another place. "I thought you didn't like brandy." He was pulling her skin between his lips, looking for every drop that clung to her. 

"I don't. But on you, the taste is incomparable." She heard him catch his breath. "If you were bottled, Linn, every teetotaler in the galaxy would be a drunkard." 

Linn slid her hands down to his hips, trapping him closer to her. Ben shuddered, and sighing deeply, hid his face in her hair at her throat. Did he have a bolt hole, too? she mused. Probably. She slowly traced one hand back up, to cradle his head to hers, waiting. 

"Captain?" Ben finally murmured. "Requesting permission to dock." 

"Proceed, Navigator." 

*** 

Ben had always thought that Ralltiir was a pleasant enough place. Clean. Modern. Financially stable to the point of total atrophy. It was very exciting -- if you were a banker. 

He had, in fact, even been worried that he might be recognized in this financial center of the Core Worlds. Ben realized he should have known better. There wasn't a chance that Linn would be going to the same places Jedi customarily did, unless she had been, for instance, trying to steal what he was assigned to protect. 

They had berthed in the cavernous Grallia Spaceport, a place Ben had only flown into, and then as promptly left from. He had managed to miss completely the cluster of clubs and cantinas in and around Grallia. At the hour when Ralltiir's respectable citizenry went home to bed, he was following Linn to One Eyed Jax, a bar situated at about the navel of Grallia's seedy underbelly. 

"You sure he'll be alright?" Linn asked for the fourteenth time. 

He wrapped an arm about her shoulder, falling in step with her.. "If there's a problem, which there won't be, Annie knows how to contact us," Ben said patiently. He omitted that the boy had been performing highly dangerous tasks all of his life and was still in one piece. He could manage for an hour or two without them. 

They picked their way through the squalor of Grallia. It was dark, smelly, and Linn seemed to know it intimately. To the extent that Coruscant and the Jedi Temple had been his home, this seemed to have been hers. 

Apart from worrying about Annie, Linn had been oddly quiet. Under his arm, she fairly exuded tension. The night before had helped, he thought. But even that terrific time could only take them so far. 

Now, as the reality of the situation came barreling down upon them, Ben found that he had contracted her case of the nerves as well. He hadn't fully understood that there was more to Linn's anxiety than simply finding out who had held a Corellian smuggler's contract. If there was a hierarchy within this shadowy world, Linn was being forced to start her career by going straight to its pinnacle. 

Qui-Gon. The Sith. The Jedi. Despite the reassurances he had tried to give, much was depending on the unproven skills of a troubled and grieving young woman. 

Nor had Ben consulted with the Council since they had hurled out of Atzerri. He did not think they would approve of this detour. Or, as his mood darkened, anything else having to do with Linn Darrow. 

"What's my limit?" Linn suddenly asked. 

"Your what?" 

She shrugged out from his arm and Ben sensed he should respect the distance she suddenly wanted to maintain. 

"My limit," Linn asserted. "What's the maximum amount you're willing to pay for a purloined communication from Naboo space? I am going to try to work an exchange, but if Gibbon doesn't buy it, how much are you willing to spend?" 

The mercenary quality to her request was so unexpected that it robbed him of any coherent response. 

"Don't act so surprised," Linn said. "I'd pay anything to find out who killed Dar. And I assume you'd do the same for Qui-Gon." 

Ben nodded dumbly; it seemed the proper thing to do. 

"But," she continued, "the Council you work for may not feel that way." 

He was able to say, quite truthfully, "I have no idea." 

Linn kicked an old can littering the street. "We turn here. It's just another block or so." She went on, "See, Ben, in spite of everything else, you are my client. I know that personally, we'd both pay a million creds for that disk. But, the Council may have a different idea about how much information on Naboo is worth to them. I need to know when the bidding gets too rich." 

It was a question he could not possibly answer. Nothing in the Code, nothing in his experience had ever prepared him to address the morality of such things. How could the Force even guide him? What was Qui-Gon worth? Or Clive Darrow? Or any other being? What was it worth to learn more of the Sith warrior he had killed, and his master or apprentice? What was the diminishment of a threat to the entire galaxy worth? 

"I don't know what the Council would say." 

"I was afraid of that." Linn paused. "Well, I'll just have to use my judgment." 

Ben did not feel measurably better. And felt considerably more anxious when she added, "Still, spending too much isn't the worse thing that could happen." 

"What is?" he asked. 

"If Gibbon decides that what we need to know isn't for sale, at any price." 

As they entered Jax, Ben's first observation was that if they ever made it to Coruscant, he and Linn were going to go somewhere that did not resemble the inside of a waste disposal unit. With that unbidden reflection, his gloom deepened. He wanted to find that disk. But, what happened then? Coruscant? How much longer could he do this? Could he really stay with Linn, jumping from system to system, and bed to bed, with his Padawan in tow? 

The effusive greetings directed to Linn jarred him back into the moment. A slight flush on her cheek was the only outward sign of her anxiety, Ben saw. At the landing, Linn leaned toward him. "Can you find us a not too public table?" she murmured. "I need to make the rounds." 

"Gibbon?" he asked quietly. 

Linn casually waved to someone, but Ben saw her eyes dart about the room. "Not here yet. He won't be far, though. If I start promising a deal for him, he'll show." 

She slipped away, leaving Ben to find a table. An impossible task in the crowded bar, to be sure. Except for a Jedi. Two drunken Sullustans suddenly had an unfortunate collision with gravity and staggered away from their corner booth. 

The drinks began arriving as soon as he sat. Knowing that he had not ordered the first to come, a vile, poisonous green concoction, and suspecting that Linn would not have done so, even as a joke, he questioned the servo-droid. In the time it took to hear the touching and surprising response, three more were delivered to the table. The word was out, and the drinks were a universal statement of support for Linn from those who had lived on the fringe with Dar. 

"May I get you a drink, sir?" the droid asked. 

Ben considered a moment. "Corellian. Reserve. Jezadok if you have it." He paused, looking around skeptically. "Better make it a double." 

"Very good, sir," the droid replied before scurrying away. 

From his vantage, Ben was able to observe the drama play out. Linn was moving from group to group, from being to being, slowly working the perimeter of the bar. She was graciously accepting the condolences offered, and seemed very poised. 

It happened several times before he realized what he had been observing. Linn would join a conversation. At first, it seemed that many with whom she spoke were simply being kind, even condescending. She would listen attentively. Someone would ask something and Ben would feel the air about Linn tense with expectation. Then, she would respond. And very quickly, and very quietly, credit transfer cards would begin changing hands. There was a rhythm to it. The exchanges followed a predictable pattern of give and take under an elaborate and established set of rules. It seemed as arcane as the Code under which he lived and as rigid. Linn had learned the rules of her game from birth. Judging from the attention she was garnering in the bar, she was also very good at it. 

The droid returned with the brandy, and he slipped it a credit chip before taking a small sip. He grimaced. Somehow Ben doubted he'd ever be able to enjoy it served any other way than as it had been the night before. The thought alone was sobering. 

Linn's reception amongst her peers had been so warm and positive, Ben at first had thought it was, like the drinks, a community's expression of solidarity for one of its own. He focused deeper in the Force, sorting through the subtle shifting and weaving emotional currents within the bar. Sincere well wishes, greedy interest in the information she bartered, concern, and anger over Dar, he all felt. However, Ben swiftly discovered that not all intentions toward Linn Darrow were so benign. 

He was sweeping the room with the Force, when Ben heard a man ask, "Who's that?" 

When his companion said, "Dar's girl, Linnayn," Ben sliced through the other traffic to focus in on the two. Smugglers, he thought with distaste. And, judging from the accents and casual arrogance, Corellian. They were lounging at the bar's corner. Linn was across from them, deep in discussion with a pair of Duros. She was oblivious to the Corelllians' regard of her from a few meters away. But then, as Ben well knew, she was **never** aware of the effect she stirred. 

"No?" The response was incredulous and Ben bristled to hear it. "That's Little Linn? Little ugly Linn?" 

His companion made a universal, crude gesture. "Not so ugly anymore." 

Ben was startled as the smugglers' coarse assessment of Linn forced a reappraisal of his own. Although he had easily and with no small amount of joy penetrated the slouching demeanor and baggy clothing she usually wrapped herself in, others had apparently never bothered to look beyond the obvious... until now. He felt rather foolish for having failed to notice the difference something as simple as a new, properly fitting, jumpsuit made. 

"Word is, she's taken over Dar's business," the smuggler said, looking idly around. Ben made sure that when he looked, the smuggler's eyes slid right past him sitting at the booth. "Her client's around here somewhere," he said. 

This too, merited an incredulous snort. "That's pretty gutsy. Who is it?" 

"Dunno. Government work, I hear." 

Ben didn't understand the reason for the slurring contempt until one said, "He'll save money on the bar bill. Everyone's buying Linn Darrow a drink tonight." 

With a rude wink to his friend, the smuggler stumbled to his feet. "I'd better get in line then." Unfortunately, and with some help from Ben, the man became entangled in the legs of the barstool he was vacating. The hapless smuggler and his stool went down in a heap, dragging his companion with him. 

Ben knew it was childish. He knew jealousy was something he had no right to feel. Linn was her own person, and he, of all people, could not make a claim to her. Such possessiveness of another was a whisper of the dark side. He knew all these things. But, it didn't stop him from causing, or enjoying, the spectacle. Or in feeling slightly vindicated when Linn swerved past them with barely a glance. 

She flopped into a chair, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from her head. She spied a drink someone had sent over. It was at Ben's left, and untouched. "That yours?" she asked. 

Ben shook his head. 

Linn gulped several sips. "Can I get you anything?" 

"I have one, thanks." 

She kept her eyes on the room, the drink casually covering her mouth. But, Ben heard her mutter, "Everyone knows I'm looking for Gibbon. He's going to show up any minute to find out why." 

Setting her drink down, she began patting her pockets, and pulled out the package of smokes she had shown Bela. She smacked the packet smartly on the table, tore it open, and teased a thin, black smoke from the package with her lips. "Gotta light?" Linn asked. 

He shook his head. Linn bounced back to her feet and headed to the bar. There, five admiring males all vied for Linn's attention and the privilege of lighting her smoke. 

Ben toyed with the package, flipping it over on the table. One of the smokes slid out, and he rolled it between his fingers. He did not think Linn had noticed his smirk. Ben was not quite so far immersed in the situation that he was unable to appreciate the irony of her query. I'll show you a **light**, he chuckled. 

Linn flitted back. "You want to try it?" she asked, slipping the burning filament out of her mouth and offering it to him. 

For curiosity's sake, he almost accepted the sweet smelling thing, but a sudden alertness in Linn's stance brought him up short. She swiftly snuffed the smoke out in an empty glass, and with a nod, drew his attention to the landing into the bar area. 

Ben glanced over, his Force sense following his eyes. Neither prepared him for the sight. "What **is** it?" he hissed. 

Linn shook her head, frowning slightly. "The race is called Vaathkree, as if that helps." 

"Not in the least." 

Gibbon, for that was who it had to be, stood alertly at the landing, surveying the denizens. Even if robbed of the extraordinary sight, the Force told Ben he had never encountered this type of being before. It? He, Ben decided, spied Linn and lumbered across the bar toward them. Lumber was the apt description. He was about two meters tall and covered with a dense armored plating where there should have been skin, hair, or an exoskeleton. He wore nothing but a belt and an air of single-minded concentration so resolute it bordered on zealous fanaticism. The rowdy crowd respectfully parted for him. 

Linn murmured hurriedly, "Don't show any surprise with the way I handle this." 

"What do you mean?" 

"A deal is a form of religious observance for Gibbon." 

She was not being sarcastic. This was the source of Gibbon's determined focus that Ben had sensed in him and he now understood why Linn had been nervous about dealing with this being. Ben's respect for how she had chosen to handle the situation grew. She had deliberately and deftly planted the seeds of a prospective barter in the bar; like a hungry nerf, Gibbon had come to sample the meal. 

Gibbon sat at their table. Linn greeted him with a swift, complicated hand gesture. Gibbon mimicked it. 

For such a lumpy being, Gibbon's command of Basic was melodic. "You invoke the bargain." 

"I do," Linn intoned solemnly. 

"Let it begin." Gibbon set his plated hand on the table so firmly it rocked. Linn rested her palm on his. "Goods, services or information?" he asked. 

"Information." 

"Cash, account, or in kind exchange?" 

"Exchange," she replied steadily. 

"Proceed." Gibbon withdrew his hand. 

"I have information regarding a shipping contract," Linn began. 

"Public or private?" 

"Public," she responded. "I seek information regarding Sly Gawron's Naboo run." "I brokered his contract to run the Trade Federation blockade," Gibbon said. "Open auction or sealed bidding?" 

"Sealed bidding." Linn then countered, "Sly had a tape of an intercepted transmission in Naboo space. How did he obtain it?" 

"Sly's crewer intercepted the transmission. What type of route?" Gibbon asked. 

Ben felt Linn tense, then force herself to relax. "Long distance, off established hyperspace lanes. I need to locate the crewer." 

"The Wookiee crewer was murdered," Gibbon said flatly and then sought his concession. "What capacity is needed?" 

"Ships in excess of 125 metric tons." 

Even with his limited experience in these matters, Ben realized Linn was describing a potentially huge contract. He saw the ritualism in the exchange. Each piece of information was exchanged for another, of increasingly greater value and specificity. They both knew the other had at least most of the information desired. The contest would be to see who could keep the string of disclosures going the longest. 

"I need to speak to the other crewers," Linn said. 

Gibbon paused. "I did not say if there were other crewers." 

"Sly couldn't have taken the Rimrunner into Naboo space with a complement of less than three. There must have been another crewer." 

Ben used the pause to try to push Gibbon in the Force. He might as well have tried moving the mountain Gibbon resembled. This was not a frightened, greedy Twi'lek. Apart from his unfamiliarity with the species, the love of haggling which motivated Gibbon was the very thing which made him most resistant to mental pressure. There was no other lever to move him. Even if Ben had been able to move Gibbon in the Force, it was as likely to go in the wrong direction. 

Gibbon gestured with his left hand in a series of rapid sweeping motions. "I concede." He again placed his right hand on the table; Linn pressed her palm to it. They both withdrew and the game continued. 

"There was a second crewer, a Sullustan." Gibbon admitted. "With the death of the Wookiee, he has gone into deep hiding." He pushed on, and Ben saw they were nearing the end. "How many of these ships with such large capacity are needed for the long distance hauling contract?" 

"A fleet," Linn responded. "More than you have available to you." She hesitated and now Ben was sincerely regretting his inability to move Gibbon. "Who hired Sly?" 

With that, they all realized it might be a tie. Both were missing two pieces of information - who and where. 

"I brokered Sly's contract for Fagina," Gibbon said slowly. Ben sensed Linn smile quietly inside. He didn't know who Fagina was. But Linn did. And she knew where to find her. 

Gibbon hesitated, carefully formulating his last question. "Who will oversee the closed bidding?" 

"Senator Dricht." 

The pieces fell into place. Gibbon would probably be as pleased with this news as Linn had been with the last piece of information she had received. Senator Dricht represented the Caridan system. The Trade Federation had tightly controlled Carida and had had several large facilities there devoted to their droid armies. With the collapse of the Fed and the Republic's assumption of its droid armaments, undoubtedly there was some large construction project in the works on Carida. 

On digesting this information, Gibbon nodded, exuding, Ben sensed, calm satisfaction. He initiated another series of complex hand gestures, which Linn repeated. He stood, "May your barter bring you peace." 

"And to you." 

Gibbon turned and strode out. Ben felt the action in the bar suddenly pick up again in earnest. The proceedings at the table had been observed, and while others had probably not learned the specifics; they undoubtedly saw that two brokers were leaving very pleased. 

He slid one of the glasses over to Linn. She exhaled deeply and quaffed the drink. 

"So," he drawled, sipping his own. Although not nearly as enjoyable, drinking it next to Linn was almost an acceptable substitute for drinking it on Linn. 

"We're off to Abregado-Rae." Ben put a restraining hand on her arm before she could bolt away. 

"Explain, please, to us slow-witted ones." 

She smiled, delighted, and he caught his breath in the glow of it. "Sly was under contract with Fagina to smuggle goods through the Naboo blockade. Gibbon arranged for Sly and his ship. Fagina supplied, I'm guessing, a Wookiee communications and weapons specialist and a Sullustan navigator." 

"And Fagina is?" Ben prompted. 

"Smuggler boss for the Antarian syndicate. She's very good." Linn slurped down another drink. 

"I'm guessing that while on the Rimrunner, the Wookiee intercepted the transmission. Under the LOTL..." 

"LOTL?" Ben interrupted. 

She blinked in surprise. "Oh, right. You probably wouldn't know that. It's an acronym for 'Laws of the Lanes.'" 

"Laws of the Lanes?" Ben repeated. 

"A smugglers code of honor. Under the LOTL, otherwise unaffiliated crewers must share unanticipated wealth with the captain. The three of them probably decided that Sly would sell the disk and they'd split the proceeds." 

"So, if the Wookiee and Sly are dead, we look for the Sullustan?" 

Linn shook her head. "If a Sullustan has gone to ground, he has **literally** gone to ground on Sullust. We'll never find him." She took another healthy draft. "What I hope is that before he went into hiding, he followed LOTL and gave a copy of the unclaimed booty to his boss, Fagina." 

"And she is on Abregado-Rae?" 

Raising her glass, she saluted him. 

* * * 

Ben made sure Linn's nav coordinates were on target. She was excited, flush from her successes in the bar, and just a bit tipsy. Nothing serious, but he was certain she would not have tried flying if he hadn't been there. 

After the ship lurched into hyperspace, Linn immediately swiveled her chair toward him. She was disheveled and very excited. Two bright spots shone on her cheeks. He had never thought she could be so beautiful or so happy. 

It had taken them over an hour to get from the table to the door of the bar. Apparently, another LOTL was the luck of the dealmaker -- literally, the belief that her good fortune could rub off on to others. This meant nearly every being in the place, whether hoping for luck or something else more intimate, had kissed, embraced, touched, or otherwise fondled Linn. 

Ben had struggled with a gamut of emotions. He was proud to know someone who had done so well with only her own wits and skill, and without the artifice on which he relied. He was resentful that others had discovered his secret. But above all, he had never felt so completely out of place. 

Caught in the moments with her, Ben had, for the first time in his life, not been preoccupied with what lay just ahead. Now though, on the threshold of achieving what had brought him to Linn, a terrifying path yawned in front of him. Linn had her own calling to follow. What kind of future could he hope to build with her, even if the Jedi Council were to allow it? Was he mad even to hope for some possibility of one? Should they end it right here and now before either of them became anymore attached? 

"So?" she began. 

"So?" Ben replied. 

Linn's hand atop his drew him back from his grim thoughts. "Hey, you okay?" 

"Yes, fine," he lied. "You were great tonight." 

She looked down and peered up at him from under her bangs. "You really think so?" 

"Yes." He brushed her hair back and ran his thumb down her cheek to her chin. "I do." 

A slow, soft smile spread across her face. It was one of her many simple, unconscious, mannerisms that could drive him out of his skull. "I think," she hedged, "that I might be able to do this. Really do this." 

She climbed into his lap and settled in, facing him. He wrapped an arm loosely around her waist. "I know you can," he assured her, his index finger gently tracing the line of her spine through the fabric of her new flightsuit. He preferred her in oversized clothes, preferably his, but he did have to admit that she filled out the distinctly more feminine cut of this one rather nicely. 

The bar still clung to her. He caught the sweet, heady scent of the liquor and smoke. In the Force, he could sense where the touch and gaze of others had lingered on her. It was disturbing, both that he noticed, and that he cared. 

It was different and yet the same as when Qui-Gon had announced before the Council that he would take Anakin as his Padawan learner. Someone he cared about, someone who had been his alone, was about to leave him. Ben's instinctive reaction had been anger at the abandonment. 

But Linn was no more his than Qui-Gon had been. There should be no dominion, no possession. They may only share a time and a place in the forward motion of the Force. Logically, he understood this. Emotionally, that was another matter. 

With a start, he realized that Linn was still prattling on. Her eyes had a far off gaze; her words spilled out enthusiastically. "And Drago told me to check back with him. He said reliable information brokers were hard to come by, and if I was half as good as Dar he could always use me. And a couple of others offered me the possibility of some work, too. I think after we finish with Fagina, we should head for--" 

Ben cut her off by bringing her in for a lingering kiss. "Dar would be very proud of you," he said when he released her. 

"I couldn't have done it without you," she replied, averting her eyes and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

The sentiment, touching though it was, brought a wave of panic. Ben caught her face between his hands and forced her to look at him. "I had nothing to do with this, Linn. It was all you." 

Linn tried to look away, embarrassed, but he couldn't let her think this. Why, he wasn't sure, but she had to know at least this truth. 

"It's important that you remember that, no matter what, all right?" When Linn didn't respond, he asked again, "All right?" 

"Okay," she finally replied softly, and brought her lips back to his. 

She was an exotic mix of tastes and scents. It might have just been the liquor and hyperspace hitting her blood at the same time, but Linn was pliant and supple against him. Slipping deeper into her emotions and mind, he felt Linn's customary reserve yielding to a tumult of reckless exuberance. How did every reservation he have melt in the heat of her moment? When she slipped off his lap and to her feet, Ben groaned with the loss of her weight against him. 

Linn reached out her hand, an invitation. "Come on," she purred. "The cockpit is far too dangerous for this type thing." 

"And why is that?" he questioned, taking her hand and climbing slowly to his feet. 

"Too many vital things to fall against. The stories of that type of mishap are legendary in space ports throughout the galaxy," she assured him, leading him back toward her cabin. 

"But what a way to go," he replied with a grin. 

Linn giggled. "True, but I prefer not to go for a long while." 

They stopped at Annie's door and peeked in. He was sprawled across his bunk, lost in the abandon of a child's sound sleep. 

It occurred to Ben that his qualms of a bleak future had made this all seem like an ill-advised idea but a few minutes before. 

"Shouldn't someone stay on watch?" he ventured. 

"I've routed everything to my cabin," she assured him, slipping her arm about his waist. "If there's a problem, we'll be the first to know." 

Whatever resolve remained to him crumbled when the door to her cabin slipped shut behind them. Ben tried pulling her in the direction of her bunk, but Linn resisted. She silenced his barely mouthed question with a kiss. "I have another idea." 

She knelt down to remove his boots. 

Ben nearly toppled over. "Shouldn't I sit down for this?" 

"No," came Linn's firm reply. "Just practice that famous balance of yours." 

Ben laughed. "Should I be frightened?" he asked, as she tossed one boot away and went to work on the other. It actually wasn't an idle question. 

"Maybe." 

Again, he dipped into her, this time to divine her plan. Ben felt no vestige of Linn's shy restraint. In its place was a heady, dangerous mix of brash abandon and desire. "Why do I suddenly have visions of bacta tanks dancing in my head?" 

His feet bare, Linn rose and placed a finger over Ben's lips. "Shhh," she ordered. 

Slowly, starting at his neck, she began to kiss her way down his body. Her fingers followed, kneading and exploring the muscles on his back and chest. Her pace was torturous, lingering, and achingly thorough. Nothing was undone without her lips first teasing it apart. 

Time suspended. Everything faded away except her kisses and hands, the hum of the ship, and the feel of clothing sliding away. He tried to reach for her, to end the tantalizing dance, but each time, she would slip through his grasp. Making him wait. 

When, after an eternity, she finally returned to his throat, he felt it before he heard her. "What do you want, Ben?" she whispered. Her request, plea, offer, it was all those things, thundered through him, hot as her hands on his skin. He suddenly realized that he was no longer clothed at all and couldn't remember how that had happened. "What do you want?" 

Linn didn't wait for an answer. She moved behind him and he felt her mouth pulling at him. Her hands began to drift, very deliberately, downward. Like trails of fire, she burned a path into his flesh. Dimly, it all seemed familiar. But it hadn't been like this, had it? It was as if Linn heard the unspoken thought. "That's right, Ben, what goes around, comes around," she whispered, mouthing his ear. "What do you want?" she repeated. The refrain howled through him. "Tell me." 

What did he want? His head fell back and he struggled for purchase, for anything to support him against Linn's assault on his body and will. How could he say it? How could he think it? Couldn't she just know it, as he knew her every thought and feeling? But no, that was impossible. 

He closed his eyes, feeling nibbling bites move down the backs of his legs, work around and then up again. He began to tremble as she made him wait, in agony for where her mouth would land next. 

"What do you want?" he heard again, warm and inviting in his ear. How could he say what he dared not even think? What if she refused? Or more paralyzing still, what if she agreed? He opened his mouth, but only an incredulous gasp came forth as Linn dragged her lips down his body. 

And imprisoned him. 

A lifetime of training to suborn the flesh to the demands of the spirit lay waste under her attentions. He leaned back against the cabin wall, its cold metal the only thing holding him to this reality. Everything he ever knew, every shred of resolve he had clung to had shattered. 

How? How had she known? Reason dictated that it was impossible. But where was reason when the woman before him was slowly driving him to the brink of insanity. His head spun. He felt like he should say something but the ability to string words together had fled to the same place his reason had gone. Something this wondrous, intense, dizzying, all-consuming... it had to be illegal in 12 systems. 

The terror began to build with a dread realization. He wanted everything. He wanted this to last forever. He wanted to have his name, his true name, be the first thing on her lips every day, and the last thing she breathed at night. He wanted to be the one she would cry out to in pain and in ecstasy. Her words reverberated within him. "What do you want, Ben?" 

For a single, breathtaking moment of clarity he knew. Most of all, he wanted her. 

Ben seized her, hauling her up, unresisting and laughing, to him. Again he caught the scent of the others from the bar, adding to his frenzy. 

He pulled her into the bunk, tearing at her clothes, desperate to rid her of them and possess her. "Ben," he heard her sigh, and the shock of hearing it roared in his mind and imagination. How could she have known? How did she know? 

He looked down at her. Her head was tossed back, teeth digging into her lower lip, eyes half closed. Her skin was luminous and she breathed raggedly, a sharp contrast to the cold hull plating and metallic hum of the drive which cocooned them. Clutching at the headboard behind her, she writhed beneath him with a need as great as his own. 

Ben claimed her. He felt her wrap her legs about his, raising her hips to meet his. He dove into her being and felt nothing but her. And her longing. For him. There were no others. He could not bear the bliss of it as Linn pulled his soul out by a string. He dragged her tighter against him and called out her name. 

Afterwards, he clung to her, bonded by a sheen of sweat and racing pulses. He held her fiercely, thinking he finally knew the answer. What did he want? For this moment never to slip away. 

* * * 

But slip away it did, of course. The Force was always in motion, as Master Yoda was so fond of saying. Linn was curled against him, her hand across his heart, sleeping soundly, while Ben stared aimlessly up at the ceiling, struggling with a torrent of jumbled emotions. He looked over at her and envied her peace. 

Every night since their first, he had slept without dreams, as deeply and quietly as Linn now did. Now, sleep eluded him. Why? He remembered Qui-Gon's teaching: "When you can no longer do what you once did, listen for the reason." 

He slipped out of bed, and pulled on his trousers, making for the cockpit. The Council would be expecting a report. Each day's delay made the next one that much easier to also ignore. Tomorrow, he thought suddenly, and knew it was a prompting within the Force. Tomorrow he would have something to report. 

Tomorrow they would hit Abregado-Rae and, hopefully, immediately be leaving with something worth the murder of three beings. And then, Coruscant he supposed ... and a future he would finally have to face. 

In the cockpit, Ben slid into the captain's chair, staring into the nowhere of hyperspace. Had he been wrong? Linn had challenged everything he had been taught. It was ... impossible. A rapport that deep was only supposed to happen in the Force? Wasn't it? Might there be a way after all? 

Before he could reconsider it, Ben swiveled to the ship's computer terminal. He swiftly accessed Linn's complete medical record. Not finding what he sought, he commanded an analysis of the blood sample that was part of her data file. 

Linn was intelligent, sensitive, mechanically adept, and intuitive. These things he had swiftly learned in their days together. But, there was something else that he thought he had known, and ignored, from the moment that he first met her. He stared at the results, whatever vain, slim hopes he had had, sinking as quickly as they had arisen. He had not been wrong. Linn had the completely unremarkable, normal midi-chlorian count of a young, human female. She existed as every other being did in the Force -- no less, but also no more. 

Shutting down the computer, Ben leaned back in the seat, and turned his chair to gaze again at the twisted space which swirled by him faster than light. What did the results mean? Nothing. Everything. He barely even noticed when the presence joined him, it was so familiar. 

"This is not the way to the living Force, my young Padawan." 

Ben closed his eyes at the sound of the voice he had missed so much. "Master," he sighed. 

"Of course, it's understandable," Qui-Gon said. 

Ben turned to look and saw his former Master sitting casually in the co-pilot's chair as if returning from the dead was the most normal thing in the universe. His long legs sprawled out in front of him, he looked much the same as before, except for a luminous aura surrounding him. Ben had, of course, heard of Jedi returning to speak to the living, but he had never had such a visitation. It was a bit disconcerting. If he ever had such an opportunity, he thought he'd want to do it with a bit more fanfare. 

"You both have found a bond in your grief and guilt," Qui-Gon said in his gentle way. 

"It was my fault, Master." Ben had to dash away the tears of self-recrimination. "If I had been..." 

"Obi-Wan," he scolded, softly. "Do not shame my teaching. It was my time, whether you had been there or not." 

"But..." 

"None of us are so strong with the Force that we can stop that moment when it arrives. When your time comes, Padawan, you too will recognize it, and embrace it." 

Qui-Gon sighed, and crossed his legs, wrapping his cloak about him. For Ben, the familiar gestures reopened the dull ache within him that was never far away. 

"You know what I miss most?" Qui-Gon asked. "I mean aside from you. Because I do miss you, Obi-Wan." 

Ben felt his throat tighten again. "What?" he managed. 

"Alderaanian sweet bread." 

It was so unexpected that Ben was able to smile. "I should think so, you used to eat it by the kilo." 

"That I did," Qui-Gon agreed. "There's nothing wrong with enjoying the pleasure of the tactile things which life has to bring. But, we must be mindful that we do not damage ourselves or others along the way." 

"Master?" Ben began. 

"I don't have long, so let me finish," Qui-Gon interrupted. "I should have discussed this with you during your training. It had seemed though that you were never that interested." 

"Of course I was interested!" 

"You never asked." 

"How do you ask about such things when you don't even know where to begin?" 

Qui-Gon laughed. "An excellent question, Obi-Wan. And something I should have realized. For that I am sorry, for you were not prepared to deal with this situation when it finally arose." 

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I couldn't have asked for a better Master." 

"Or me a better Apprentice." Qui-Gon replied fondly. "Nevertheless, I believe you are making an error with this young woman." 

"But there are precedents? There are exceptions?" Ben asked, knowing that to his perceptive Master, every desperate hope he had was laid bare. 

"That is a matter for the Council, although I suspect you already know the answer. What I speak of is the deception." 

"But the Council commanded it." Even saying the words, Ben knew how false the protest sounded to Qui-Gon. 

"You know my opinion, Obi-Wan. The Council may err." His spectral voice became firmer, as it did when he delivered an important lesson. "But, regardless, you may not selectively obey or disregard the Council where it serves your convenience." He smiled then, softening the reprimand. "What does the Force tell you? Trust your conscience, my young Padawan. It will serve you well." 

And with that he faded away. 

Ben stared a long time at the empty chair, aching loneliness tightening across his chest again. He tried to tell himself that Qui-Gon was one with the Force, and that he must let him go. But such platitudes weren't much comfort in the cold of space. Finally, when he was unable to bear the sense of loss any longer, he sought out the only person who had been able to soothe the gaping wound, and returned to her bed. 

*** 

Ben drifted slowly to consciousness, only to find an empty bunk. He must have overslept. He searched quickly through the Force and determined that Annie was still asleep. Good. It would give him time to have the talk he needed to have with Linn. 

Eventually, he found her aft. A bulkhead panel was at her feet and it looked as if she working on some part of The Ron's battered stabilizer array. 

When she caught sight of him, Linn switched off the modulator she was using and flipped up her safety goggles. "I didn't want to wake you," she said with a smile. 

"Thanks," Ben replied, taking in her tattered coveralls and grease smudged face. He leaned against the cabin corridor and reached out to take a piece of the material at her waist between his fingers, worrying the fabric. "Linn," he started, "there's something we have to discuss..." 

"Last night," she cut him off, blushing. The words came out in a rush. "I'm sorry. I guess I just had too much to drink and... Well, I don't know what came over me. I just, you're so, I..." 

This wasn't the way to begin. "Linn, no," he assured her, moving his hands down to her hips and pulling her toward him. "Last night was... Well..." Ben realized he had caught a measure of her embarrassment. It had all seemed like a good idea at the time. "Please, no apologies. Especially for that." 

"Really?" Linn asked nervously, peering up at him through her bangs. 

"Absolutely." Ben knew he had come to say something important. Instead, his hands began, on their own volition, to roam the loose fabric of her coveralls. "Maybe later I can return the favor," he whispered. 

"I'd like that," Linn returned, her lips grazing the underside of his chin. 

"Maybe you can wear a tool belt..." His lips were at the corner of her mouth, teasing. 

"And nothing else?" she scarcely got the words out before Ben covered her mouth with his own. 

And leapt away just as quickly, seconds before Anakin rounded the corner. "I'm hungry," the child announced by way of greeting. 

"Then I'd say breakfast is in order," Ben replied, silently cursing. He was appalled with himself. Where was his focus, he wondered, and tried to cover by asking casually, "Can I fix you something Linn?" 

Linn's coy smile spoke volumes of things other than food. Of course, Ben realized, thoroughly disgusted with himself. That's where it had gone. He'd left his resolve in a second class hotel room in Coronet. 

"I'll catch up with you in a bit." she said. "I just want to lock this down first." 

"Right," Ben said, tearing his eyes off her and heading back toward the main cabin. Anakin padded along behind him. 

"Ration bar or porridge?" Ben asked, as he rummaged through the galley's storage cupboard. With Annie, he was minding his feelings very carefully, but wondered just how much the perceptive boy had already discerned. 

"Porridge," Anakin replied, settling himself in at the modular table. 

Ben set the timer for the cereal and programmed the brewer for the caf. He found a box of juice and set it in front of the boy. Annie nearly downed the entire thing in one gulp. He must be approaching a growth spurt, Ben mused. 

"So," Annie asked, through mouthfuls of juice. "You kiss her yet?" 

"What?" Ben asked, jumping up to find another distraction. He located a second juice box and placed it in front of his ward. 

Annie sighed, and reached for the box. "Did you kiss her yet?" 

"What makes you think she'd want me to kiss her?" Ben asked. The computer dinged and he turned to remove Annie's porridge. He grabbed a spoon and handed both items to the boy. 

Anakin wasted no time in digging in. With his mouth full he said, "Because she's always making goofy eyes at you." 

Ben laughed and turned back to the brewer. "She does, does she?" 

"Yeah, but you make them right back at her, so I guess it's okay," Annie said, shoveling another spoonful in his mouth. "But you better kiss her soon or she'll find someone else. She's too pretty to wait around for you forever." 

Ben settled back down in a chair and sipped his caf. "Indeed she is," he agreed sadly. "Indeed she is." 

"If you two got married," Annie said hopefully, "then we'd be a family." 

Ben considered that moment. He'd never had a family in the traditional sense. He'd only had the other Jedi children and their teachers, and finally there'd been Qui-Gon. Anakin's longing for a mother was something he couldn't understand, and something, he knew, he should discourage. 

"Anakin, we have discussed this. The Jedi are your family now." 

He stared down at the table. "I miss her," Annie said dejectedly. 

Before Ben could reply, Linn emerged in a clean flightsuit, hair damp from a shower. Ben handed her a cup of caf which she took gratefully and nodded her thanks. "Better hurry up. We break orbit in half an hour," she announced. 

*** 

Linn had always disliked Abregado-Rae. It lacked the character of the other Core Worlds and certainly had none of the class. It was a popular spacer's destination as a final stop within the well-traveled Core before heading off on to the lanes. Yet, even with all the traffic, the planetary capital city had never managed to shake the impression that the whole place was just a grimy layover on the way to somewhere else. 

To Linn, only one thing had ever made Abregado-Rae worthy of more than an "acceptable refueling stop" mark on her star chart. The LoBue Cantina, and the sabacc tables and company found there, had kept Dar coming back here for years. 

While it was still morning for them, dirtside, Abregado City was bustling with afternoon activity. Anakin was, predictably, enthralled by it all. "This is so wizard!" he exclaimed. Only Ben's well-timed hand on the child's shoulder kept him from darting into traffic for a better look at the wares on junk dealer's table. 

"Anakin," Ben scolded. "We're here to attend to business, not to see the sights." 

Annie's head and spirits fell. "Yes, sir," he replied solemnly, folding his hands in front of him. Then, more hopefully, he cast his gaze skyward, as he had with every stop they had made. "Do you think it will rain?" 

His respectful manner lasted only until he caught sight of an old woman chasing a small furred creature with large black eyes out of her shop with a broom. The being turned and gave the woman what could only be interpreted as an obscene gesture, before scurrying away. 

"Wow!" Annie cried. "What was that?" 

"A Moocher," Linn explained. "They are native to this planet and make their living by panhandling." 

"Annie, you mustn't give them any credits," Ben advised. 

The boy's eyebrows drew together. "But aren't we supposed to help those less fortunate than us?" Annie asked. 

Ben smiled. "Yes, of course. But let me ask you, did you give money to Jawas back on Tatooine?" 

Annie shook his head. "No, of course not..." he stopped, understanding dawning. "Oh, I get it." 

"Good thing we aren't bringing a droid," Linn commented, as they worked their way through the market. 

"How come?" Annie asked. 

"Because we are going to see a Gotal. Droids give them terrible headaches," Linn explained. 

"Fagina's a Gotal?" Ben asked suddenly. 

Linn wondered at the sharp tone. He was probably just nervous about the disk and bringing Annie. "Yes. Didn't I mention it?" 

"No." Ben's voice implied that it was most definitely her mistake. 

Lin shrugged. "Brilliant really. Given their sensitivity to empathic states, I'm surprised there aren't more of them in smuggling." 

"Do Gotals read minds?" Annie asked, all wonderment. 

"Not exactly," Ben interrupted, with a firm, inscrutable glance at Annie. 

The boy immediately fell silent. 

"You certainly never try to cheat one in a card game," Linn said, finding Ben and Annie's interaction a bit odd, without really knowing why. "Dar's known Fagina for decades. He actually managed to bluff her in a sabacc game. Or, she let him think he did." 

"And he stayed alive to tell about it?" Ben asked wryly. 

"I think she was charmed by the effort. Her Antarian syndicate was one of Dar's first clients and has been loyal ever since." 

Ben said softly, "It will be hard to tell her, won't it?" 

Linn shook her head sadly, feeling the sadness welling up again. "I'm sure she already knows." 

They turned a corner and were there. Large menacing signs cautioned would-be patrons of the LoBue to leave a long list of forbidden objects and companions outside. "Every time I come here, they've got a new 'Do Not Upset the Gotal' warning," Linn said. 

With a nod she indicated a pile of charred metallic domes, arms, legs, heads and torsos at to the side of the entrance. "That's what happens if a droid tries to get service here." 

She dropped to one knee and gave Anakin's shirt a straightening tug. "Annie, you must be certain to stick very close to Ben, okay?" 

Annie glanced up at Ben. "Okay," he promised. 

Physically, the LoBue was the same as it had been the last 30 times she had been there. Gaming tables on the perimeter, a view through a dingy window of the South Hills, and a large bar dominating the center. Yet, every other time Linn had been there, regardless of the time of day, night, or year, the place had been packed. 

Today, it was empty. 

"Hey, Darrow," a cheery voice called from the bar. 

"Hey Mari." Seeing Ben direct Annie to a table, she strode up to embrace the aging Mon Calamarian. It felt good to have his familiar arms around her. She'd known the bartender all her life. Her very first drunk was on his Linnlighter -- a drink he had made just for her - guaranteed buzz without the next day pain. 

"Sorry to hear about your dad." Mari stroked the top of her head, then put her out at arm's length, twirling her around. "How are you holding up? You look great. You need anything?" 

Linn looked down at her feet, feeling tears suddenly threatening. Here in one of Dar's favorite haunts, with one of his best friends, his loss resonated through her with renewed strength. "I miss him," she said softly. 

"I know you do, tadpole, but he'd be proud of you, your old man would, carrying on like you have." He looked over her head, then swooped in to plant a kiss on her cheek. In her ear, Mari whispered, "Any problems? You need them taken care of?" 

Linn hugged him again, understanding his concern. "Nah, Mari. They're the clients Dar was trying to sell to when he got knifed." 

Mari leaned back against the bar's counter and wiped his tendrils with a bar rag. It was his species' equivalent of human tears. "We just feel awful about it. Fagina's been a mess." 

"Is she around, Mari?" 

With a glance again at Ben and Annie, he nodded, rubbing his gills conspiratorially. She slipped him a cred. Mari was one of her oldest friends, but business was business. 

"Think she'll see me?" Linn asked. 

Mari turned his back to Ben and Annie, then leaned to her again, hiding his mouth at her cheek. "You almost got here too late, if you want to see her. They're bugging out." 

Linn was shocked. Fagina had been working out of the LoBue since before she'd been born. 

The bartender gestured about the nearly empty bar mournfully, responding to her stunned expression. 

"Can you ring her for me?" She flipped him another cred. 

Mari reached under the counter. He kept his special drink recipes, a heavy blaster, a comlink, and a stash of cash there. The comlink was wired directly to Fagina's suite of offices upstairs. 

He pulled out the com, and turned his back to Linn. A few seconds beat by, then he turned back toward her. "She'll see you," he said to Linn, and then pointed to Annie and Ben. "But they'll have to wait down here." 

Linn nodded. She had expected as much, Ben's over-protectiveness notwithstanding. She slid another cred piece at Mari. "Make sure you take care of them, okay?" 

*** 

A Gamorrean escorted Linn upstairs. Fagina always liked her guards stupid, uncommunicative, utterly obedient and horribly lethal. The Gamorreans were a perfect fit. 

The normally ordered offices were in chaos. Furniture was upended, data disks were scattered everywhere, and beings were running about in a crazed panic. Linn's concern deepened. 

Fagina was waiting for her in her spare offices. Gotals came from the grasslands of Antar IV and she had chosen neutral decors which reflected that serene landscape. She was pacing nervously; unusual in and of itself, and rubbing her horns gingerly. Linn had known her for years, and had never seen her so agitated. 

"Linn," she began, in her stately voice. "We grieve deeply for your loss." 

Linn nodded formally, accepting the condolences. Familiarity with Fagina was earned. Dar had had it. She did not. Informality would be a grave insult to the reserved smuggler. She began to launch into her explanation, when Fagina cut her off. 

"I have surmised why you've come," the Gotal said. She paused, and again rubbed her head cones. She seemed to be in genuine pain. 

"I sincerely regret ever accepting the contract to smuggle goods to Naboo. Profits can be found anywhere. Good beings cannot." 

"Do you have the disk?" Linn asked, daring not to hope. 

"Indeed I do. Milas brought it to me before he went underground. In this case, I wished he'd violated the LOTL and taken the damn thing with him." 

Linn worked to keep her voice even. "Do you know what is on it?" 

"I have seen the recording. I do not understand its meaning." Fagina shook her head. "I do not see why four beings have died to prevent its disclosure to the Republic." 

"Four?" Linn asked. Who else had died, she wondered. 

Fagina nodded. "The recording is so distorted, I sought the advice of my Verpine slicer." 

"Kell? How is he?" 

"Dead, as of this morning," Fagina snarled. 

"My condolences, Fagina. He will be missed." 

"Indeed. Over a disk which seems meaningless, I have already lost my favorite information broker, a very loyal Wookiee lieutenant, the navigator for my personal ship, and now my slicer." Her head cones seemed to pulsate. 

Given Fagina's obvious distress and that she could probably read what she intended anyway, Linn opted for the bold approach. "I'm prepared to take it off your hands, Fagina. And I won't charge you for relieving you of something this hot." 

"I had intended to send it out the airlock once we break orbit," Fagina growled. "This is not worth more lives." 

"Then, Fagina, tell anyone who asks, and everyone who doesn't, that you gave it to Linnayn Darrow and that the moment Darrow left, she headed straight to Coruscant." 

"Perhaps." Fagina grimaced again and suddenly snatched a comlink from her desk. "Mari," she barked. "Has someone let a droid in?" 

"No, Madame," came Mari's disembodied voice. 

"Who else is downstairs?" she demanded. 

"Only Linn's two customers," Mari responded. 

The Gotal switched it off impatiently. "These buyers, they are traveling with you? The man and the boy?" 

"Yes," Linn replied. "But I don't see why that..." 

Fagina ceased her pacing and turned to her cluttered desk. She plucked a disk from the top of the pile. Always hide in plain sight, Linn remembered. She wondered now whether it had been Dar or Fagina who had been responsible for that particular lesson in her unorthodox education. 

Fagina shoved the disk at Linn. "I warn you, it is very poor quality." 

Fagina gestured peremptorily and the Gamorrean guard suddenly moved forward, shoving Linn toward the door. "Thank you for ridding me of this. I suggest you leave immediately. Should you live long enough, I hope that you may avenge your father. If you do, I shall return the favor." 

Linn was backing to the door trying to blurt out her thanks. Not that she had much choice with a grunting, green mountain pushing her in that direction. "Thank you Fagina." 

Fagina nodded, pressing her palms into her temples. "By the time you clear the gravity well, the fringe will know I have given you this cursed thing. I will regret if you die." 

For Fagina, it was a statement of enormous compassion. "I understand," Linn said. 

An expression passed over her face, the equivalent of a brittle human smile. "I warn you, Linn, all is not as it seems. For this information, there is no charge." 

The slamming of the office door interrupted Linn's nod of farewell. 

Ben and Annie were waiting at the bar. Annie was making good use of Linn's credit piece, constructing a fortress out of straws, shot glasses, coasters, and some sort of local fruit. Mari looked on in amusement. "You've got a weakness in your left flank," he pointed out. 

Annie scrunched up his eyebrows. "Oh yeah," he said, and added an additional shot glass for support. 

"I got it," Linn said, as she slipped next to Ben. 

Ben slid off his stool. "Let's go. Annie!" 

Linn gave Mari another hug and a hundred credits. "Thanks, dear. I'll be back." 

He gave her a squeeze, and swatting her on the backside, pushed her toward the door. 

Ben and Annie were already waiting outside. With no explanation, Ben suddenly gripped Linn's arm and began walking very quickly in the direction of the spaceport. 

"What's wrong?" Linn asked. She shook free of him, not liking this feeling. "What's the matter with you?" 

Ben slowed. "I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "You weren't upstairs very long. Were you able to see what was on the disk? 

"No," Linn began. "Fagina just gave it to me. She said it's poor quality, and tried to scrub it. The Verpine who was going to do the job died this morning." 

Ben's eyes widened. He seemed to nod, as if in confirmation, and glanced at Annie. What was going on? Linn wondered. 

Again, Ben laced his fingers at her elbow and began propelling her forward "We need to see what is on that disk. And the sooner we leave here, the safer you will be." 

"I can take care of myself," Linn snapped back. 

He halted and turned to face her. Linn felt the stirrings of confusion. What had happened? 

"Linn, at least four beings have died to keep us from getting this information." Ben looked over her head, his eyes darting, nervously. "I feel we need to leave. Now. Can you understand?" 

She didn't, but nodded. 

They said nothing else on the way back to the port. Ben seemed at best, barely there. His attention was everywhere except on her. Linn kept an eye out too, but no one seemed to be paying them any mind at all. She wasn't stupid. If Kell had been killed only that day, someone could be looking for them too. She had been certain, though, that no one was following them. 

Even Annie seemed affected by Ben's odd mood. He trotted hurriedly along beside them, uncharacteristically disinterested in their surroundings. 

Neither of them noticeably eased even when they reached the ship and Linn sealed the ramp behind them. When she withdrew the disk, Ben snatched it from her hands. Linn swallowed her protest. Bewildered, she took Annie's hand, and followed Ben into the main cabin. He had already inserted the disk into her holo reader. 

The transmission was, as the Fagina had said, very distorted. It was snowy and blurred. A wavering image flickered in the holo. It appeared to be a man, heavily robed. Only the bottom of his face was visible. His lips moved but there was no coherent audio. 

With a strangled cry, Annie burst into tears. "No," he whimpered, backing away. "NO!" 

"Anakin," Ben barked, incredibly harsh, his attention still on the recording. "Stop that at once." 

"Ben! That's no way to speak to him." Linn knelt and put her arms around Annie. He was valiantly trying to swallow his sobs. Linn smoothed his head, and dabbed his tears. "It's nothing to be scared of, Annie. It's just a recording." 

She realized though, that Annie was paying her no mind either. His attention was riveted on the image. "Master?" he gulped. 

Then, out of the background, a second figure materialized. The words "This is my apprentice..." were barely audible over the static. 

"What's **that**!?" Linn exclaimed, just as the images flickered away to nothing. 

Ben's shoulders were shaking, Linn saw. When he turned again to Annie, he was very pale. He knelt, and Annie pulled away from Linn, tottering uncertainly toward Ben. "Master?" he said again, in a very small voice. 

Ben rested a hand on Annie's shoulder. "Padawan, you know you must not be afraid. You know why this is so." 

Padawan? Linn wondered. What was that? Some sort of nickname? 

Annie nodded. 

He stood, and gave Annie a gentle push. "Go to our room. I will join you there in a moment." 

Annie immediately left the cabin, not even glancing back. Ben kept his eyes on the retreating boy, and suddenly blurted, "We need to get to Coruscant." 

This was too much. "Not until you tell me what is going on," Linn erupted. She felt that everything that had transpired had been in some language she didn't understand. 

Ben seemed to sag. When he turned back to face her, and she was looking at a stranger. It was frightening. "Ben?" she asked. "What is it? Is it the recording? Is it that important?" 

"Yes." If possible, Ben paled even further. He was in the grip of some profound emotional tide she could barely comprehend. And then, she thought she understood. 

"Was that who killed Qui-Gon?" she asked softly, her heart aching for him. 

Ben stared down at his hands, clenching and relaxing his fists. He finally said, "The second one. Yes." 

"What was it? I've never seen anything like it." 

He turned back, looking in the direction Annie had gone. "And you never will again, Linn." 

"Why?" Linn felt she already knew the answer. 

"I killed him on Naboo." 

She went to him, trying to put an arm about him, but Ben shrugged her off. "I'm sorry..." he began awkwardly. 

"No, it's alright. I'm sorry I snapped at you." Linn understood. "This has been horrible for both you and Annie." 

"Can you take care of getting us out of here and on the way to Coruscant?" Ben took a step away from her, toward Annie. 

"Of course." For a moment, it seemed that Ben actually noticed her. Linn could not imagine what might be going through him now. And poor Annie. Obviously, the boy had seen part of the whole ordeal on Naboo, and was frightened out of his mind. She gave Ben a shove aft. "Annie needs you now. I'll take care of everything else." 

As he retreated, she called, "Ben?" 

It seemed that he stiffened first, before slowly turning back around. Maybe it was just a trick of the lighting in the ship, but he seemed far away. Remote. "Let me know if I can help with Annie." 

He nodded again, and disappeared. 

*** 

Finally, mercifully, Anakin fell into an exhausted sleep. It had taken hours of mediation to free his Padawan from the terror of the mysterious black-robed man. 

Ben did not understand it. Annie had been clear. It was not the tattooed red and black creature, Qui-Gon's murderer, who had provoked the near hysteria. It was the other, the shrouded one. Annie claimed the figure haunted his dreams. 

He had explained over and over that dreams were not prophecy, merely, on occasion, possible avenues in the future. They might provide clues, but were not, by themselves to be trusted. Try though he did to convince Anakin otherwise, the boy's vision made him deeply uneasy as well, for Ben thought he understood its import. It only served to underscore how important it was that he not err in Anakin's training. 

He glanced down at the sleeping child, seemingly so innocent in slumber, and remembered, with a chill, Yoda's dire warning. "Clouded this boy's future is." 

The challenge that Qui-Gon had left him was formidable. Again, he wished for his Master's skill and wisdom and felt a stab of apprehension. It had required everything he knew to help Anakin cope with a phantom dream. Without a Master's perception, could he even hope to help Anakin overcome his fear? And his anger? The task seemed daunting. 

Ben recalled his own struggles to master those emotions. They had nearly been his undoing. But, compared to Anakin, what had he had to be angry about? That he'd grown too tall too quickly and his inability to control his gangling limbs and oversized feet had earned him the merciless teasing of his fellow students? Even now, all these years later, the remembered taunts of "Oafy-Wan" could still bring color to his cheeks. As for fear? He'd lived in terror of what? Turning thirteen before he was selected as a Padawan and being assigned to the Agricultural Corps, rather than becoming a Jedi Knight. 

How naive could he have been? He rose slowly from where he had crouched on the edge of Annie's bunk. His legs were sore from being in one position for so long. He needed to stretch his legs, to clear his head. 

Silently, he slipped out of their room and found himself standing in front of Linn's cabin. He placed a hand on the door and closed his eyes, easing into the living Force. She was asleep. Her essence welled up, enveloping him. Overwhelming. Exhilarating. 

His head fell against her door; he ached to be with her. But things had to be done. It was as much a physical as it was a mental effort to shove her away. He focused more resolutely and, abruptly, Ben felt a prompting within, deeper even than what Linn had kindled. The Force was demanding his attention. 

He made himself move away and head for the main cabin. He had been so involved with Anakin, so deep in meditation with his Padawan, that he had not even felt The Ron lift. Checking the nav readings confirmed that Linn had set a course for Coruscant, and that she was really burning the drive to get there. 

The Council had to be notified. He opted for a brief, encrypted, flash transmission, not wanting to risk a holo. When they hit Coruscant, he didn't want to be waiting for hours in orbit for civilian traffic to clear them. The Council would see they were escorted to one of the pads in the government center, and would have transport waiting. 

Ben almost called up the mysterious holo tape again. But he could not. The tattooed face of the Apprentice, for that was most certainly what he was, still haunted him. The Sith had returned. The Master still lived. 

Ben fought the rising despair he had had to shield from Anakin. The Lord haunted his Padawan. He was so powerful, he had concealed his return from 10,000 Jedi. He had trained an Apprentice to be the most formidable opponent the Jedi had faced in generations. His Apprentice had killed one of the Order's most venerable Masters. He had probably been in league with the Trade Federation to perpetrate a war on a peaceful people. Why? 

To stave off the paralyzing fear, Ben did what he had not done for days. He directed his attention inward, finding the thread of the Force he looked to for guidance. The impact of the visions nearly blinded him. Stunning images began rolling through his mind. He saw billowing sand and two suns hanging heavy on the horizon. In his mind, Ben heard his own voice say, "We could be stuck here for a long time." Tatooine? He saw a blonde boy, so like Annie in every respect, but different, older, and still in the white desert garb. He saw a girl's beautiful face, deep brown eyes framed by thick hair. She was familiar, but gone so quickly he could not name the likeness. 

Then, a black hooded figure loomed, tinged with red. He gasped audibly, at first thinking that he was seeing Qui-Gon's death again. But, as with Anakin, the image was slightly different. Ben saw an old man, and knew it was himself. Old, worn, infinitely sad, Ben started as the hot fire of a red lightsaber crashed down on the vision. 

Was he to die as his master had? An aged man cut down by a Sith? Before he could probe further, the vision swirled away into thick mist. In the fog, he saw Master Yoda, but not as the active vibrant voice on the Jedi Council. He was old, weary, and burdened with unknown cares. The image was so poignant a cry caught in his throat. 

The torrent trickled away to nothing. Ben had no concept of how much time had passed. He was exhausted and drained. With a deep breath, he cleared his mind, trying to bring some order to the chaos swirling within him. He had to be mindful of what he had recently instructed Annie. Prophecy was a dangerous guide to plotting future actions. He would not presume to interpret the startling and conflicting images. He had learned enough. The message was not one he had not wanted to hear. As so often happened, he had sought guidance on one matter, and gained insight into another. Violent, turbulent, dangerous times awaited the Jedi. His own future was profoundly unsettled. All he felt was aching, desolate loneliness, no joy, no happiness, no contentment. Nowhere in the visions had he seen Linn. At every turn, she had dissolved into dust. With a sudden stab of clarity, Ben knew that there would be no place in his life for a woman for years to come. There might never be a woman ever again. 

If Linn had some level of Force sensitivity, he might have been able to fashion some justification for keeping her. But she did not. There was probably no precedent for it, and the Council would be implacable on this point, he thought. It was likely to be a battle lost before it could even begin. 

He was a Jedi, Ben realized bleakly, not a father, a husband, or a lover. His first obligation, his promise and vow had been to Qui-Gon, and now to Anakin. He would train the boy, he had to, of that much he was certain. Linn had no part or place in that order of things. 

He heard a soft sound, and quickly looked up. Linn was leaning against the jam leading into the cabin. She was wrapped in a thin blue robe, pulled tightly about her as if to ward off the cold. 

"How's Annie?" she asked. 

"Finally asleep." She sighed, obviously relieved. "Still trying to unravel the mysterious man in black?" 

"I was looking at one part of the problem." They **were** related, he told himself. 

She crossed the cabin to him and sat, facing him. "And?" 

Still reeling from the after-affects of the vision, Linn's mere proximity to him was almost overpowering. He worked to keep his voice steady. "On Coruscant, we may be able to scrub the recording to get a better image." 

"We'll be there in a few hours." She hesitated, perhaps seeing something she hadn't before. "Is it that bad?" Linn asked. 

Ben nodded wearily. "There's more to this situation than I've told you. I..." 

Linn leaned forward and gently placed her fingers over his lips. The simple touch was so electric he nearly started. 

"Shhhh," she said softly, silencing him. "I'm not stupid. My father was murdered to keep you from getting that bad recording. Three others are dead as well." 

Ben tried. He really did. "But -" Linn shook her head adamantly. "I don't understand why it's important. And I don't want to know either." He felt her finger run along his face and had to stifle the groan. "Because if I did, and the right buyers come along, well, you get the picture." 

"Linn, please, let me..." 

She stood, shaking her head firmly. "No, Ben. It is better this way. I know things won't be the same once we get to Coruscant." She lowered her eyes, then glanced up again, a shy, intoxicating smile playing across her face. "But we still have a few more hours before we need to decide anything." 

Ben felt his insides somersault. He hesitated. Linn held out her hand, beckoning. With the gesture, a corner of her robe demurely opened and he was lost. For now. For this moment. For the few moments that still remained to him. He would have to tell her. But not yet. His mind wailed with the breaking of another vow he had made to his dead Master. But how could he end the deception now when the only future he saw was filled with sand and solitude? 

Ben followed Linn back to her room. 

Continued in Chapter 4


	4. A Credit For Your Thoughts

By Gheorghe2 and ginef 

CHAPTER FOUR - "A Credit For Your Thoughts" 

"Well, that didn't take long," Linn commented. Coruscant Control had spewed out landing coordinates almost the moment they had broken orbit. 

"We're expected," Ben said. 

Linn digested his flat statement, feeling apprehension float by. She hadn't exactly announced to anyone that she was going to be in the neighborhood. Which meant that at some point, Ben had. Without telling her. 

It took The Roncardi's computer only a few seconds to begin hooting an alarm. Linn quickly shut off the klaxon. She pointed to the landing coordinates the ship had just warned her to avoid on pain of being blasted out of the sky. "There's obviously been some sort of mistake." 

Ben leaned over her shoulder, resting his arm on the back of the captain's chair. "No, there's no mistake. We've diplomatic clearance," he explained. 

Linn turned around and looked at him skeptically. "Ben! That airspace is reserved for the Supreme Chancellor." 

He looked askance at her, as if **she** were the one chasing moonbeams. "Well, where else would we land?" 

She searched hard for any humor or sarcasm in his response. There wasn't any. "You could have warned me," Linn grumbled, sending the ship down into the heart of the most restrictive airspace in the galaxy. "I would have gotten the hull painted." 

Confident though she was in her piloting, Linn really wished that she wasn't trying to land her humble freighter on the Chancellor of the Universe's private platform. From the air, the landing pad seemed to be the size of a data disk, suspended in the air by nothing but sheer force of will. As nervous as she suddenly was, it was a wonder she hadn't missed it entirely. 

"I'll get Anakin," Ben said, unstrapping as soon as they touched down. He ducked out of the cockpit, leaving her still sitting in the pilot's chair. 

He hadn't really said what she should do. Linn had thought she wanted to go along when Ben delivered the disk. Now, as an unsettling sense of dislocation grew, she wasn't so sure. 

The question was answered definitively when she saw a shuttle dock at the edge of the platform. It was bright red. High-ranking diplomatic status, Linn knew. The woman who emerged seemed vaguely familiar. But Linn had no difficulty recognizing the dark blue-robed guards accompanying her. She had seen them on newsfeeds before, and with the election of Senator Palpatine, the Chancellor's Senate Guards had become a very familiar sight. 

Linn decided that even if invited, she'd stay with the ship. She shrugged out of her seat and found Ben at the hatch. He was kneeling in front of Annie, speaking to him in hushed tones. When he saw Linn, he stopped and stood. 

"Your ride's here," Linn said. 

"Right, then. We should be off." He turned to Anakin. "Will you go and greet our escort? I'll be there momentarily." 

Anakin nodded. "See you later, Linn," he said and headed down the ramp. 

Linn watched him go, feeling rather sad. The recording had stolen something innocent and light-hearted from Anakin. 

She turned to Ben. He was shuffling nervously, fidgeting with his collar. Things were very awkward again. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he finally said, not meeting her eyes. 

"I'll be here." 

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Ben pulled her into an embrace, burying his face in her neck. He held her so tightly that when he abruptly let go Linn staggered back against the bulkhead. "Ben..." she began. But he was already gone. 

Linn raced back to the cockpit. Ben met the woman in the middle of the platform and greeted her with a deep bow, one that Anakin imitated rather well. They turned and hurried toward the shuttle, leaving the blue guards behind. Seconds later the shuttle departed and was lost to her in the traffic traversing the skies. 

Sei Taria. That was who their escort was. She was the Chief of Staff to the Supreme Chancellor's Office and was always at the Chancellor's left elbow. Linn slumped down in the captain's chair, glancing again at the blue robed guards. So, she and The Roncardi merited the Chancellor's private guard corps? This was all odd. Very odd. 

*** 

"And you can confirm, Obi-Wan, that the Sith in the holo was the one you struck down?" Mace Windu asked. 

"Yes, Master. Without a doubt. Perhaps when the recording has been reviewed, we will be able to identify the other." 

"Perhaps," the Master replied vaguely, and steepled his hands. 

Obi-Wan fought the urge to fidget with the long cuff of his Jedi robe. He and Anakin had been in the High Council chamber for an eternity. He was worried. Even with their hours of work the night before, Anakin had barely been able to endure seeing the recording again. The Council had seen the boy's fear as if it had been stamped on his forehead and had chastised him for it. The experience had been very trying for his Padawan. 

And he needed to see Linn. Now back at the Temple and in his familiar Jedi uniform, the deception hung even more heavily upon him. He and Linn could resolve this, he felt. But, he had to speak with her. And the sooner the better. 

Why were his Masters prolonging this report? 

"Might the recording be a forgery?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asked. 

"I do not believe so," Obi-Wan replied, willing calm. "Four beings were murdered to prevent us from obtaining it." 

"What of Mistress Darrow?" Yaddle asked. "At further risk is she?" 

"She intends to spread the word on the fringe that she has already obtained the disk and turned it over to the Republic. However, I believe she may seek her father's assassin." 

"Discovering this murderer might lead us to the Sith Lord," Master Windu said. "The Corellian Security Forces and whatever passes for local authority on Abregado-Rae and Atzerri should be contacted." 

Behind him, Ben heard Adi Gallia say, "I shall see to it, Master." He knew she was the liaison for such things to the Chancellor's Office. 

"The woman should be guarded," Even Piell growled. The combative Master repeated the Code: "Jedi are bound to protect those who have no other means of defense." 

Ben stilled a twitch of humor. 

"Amused are you, Obi-Wan?" Master Even asked testily. 

He bowed deeply, an apology. "No, Master. I was just considering only how Mistress Darrow would object to being characterized as 'defenseless.'" 

A vague sense of unease was beginning to settle around him. He really wanted to leave. Obi-Wan began backing to the door, Anakin beside him. "With your permission, Masters, I can discuss with Mistress Darrow the assignment of a Jedi to protect her." 

"Obi-Wan!" 

He halted. It was the first time Master Yoda had spoken during the interview. His call was a command. "Anything else have you to say?" 

"No, Master Yoda." 

Yoda glanced at Master Windu. They both sighed and Obi-Wan felt a chill. He was certain of it. The skin on his back began to prickle. Something had passed between the two Masters. 

"Obi-Wan," Mace Windu began. "You protected the defenseless, when you took this woman from the Atzerri cantina." He paused, significantly, then continued, "But you preyed upon the defenseless when you took this woman to your bed." 

* * * 

Linn had decided to use the down time to recalibrate the Ron's aging fore shield array. It didn't require a great deal of concentration, leaving her free to mull over the strange turns of the past few weeks. She'd barely gotten started when she heard the buzzer indicating that someone was at the ramp. Odd, Ben and Annie knew the code to get in, she thought as he headed back that direction. 

A look at the viewscreen told her it wasn't Ben after all, or Annie. A young man, dressed in simple brown robes, was at the hatch on the landing platform. Curious, Linn released the ramp and strode half way down it. "Yes?" she asked, brushing her hands off on her coveralls. 

The young man bowed. What was it with all the bowing around here, she wondered. He was sporting the same sort of hair as Annie, closely shorn on the top, with a braid dangling down his right shoulder. Odd, she thought. "May I help you?" 

"Mistress Darrow, the Jedi High Council wishes an audience with you, if that is agreeable." 

Linn nearly choked in disbelief. "The Jedi Council?" 

"Yes," the boy said, very earnestly. "I am to escort you there at your earliest convenience." 

He was for real. What in the universe could the Jedi Council want with her? Unless... no, that was... no. "Uh, yeah, just let me wash up first, okay?" 

"Certainly." He bowed again. 

Linn hurried up the ramp and to her cabin. Her anxiety growing with each passing moment, she managed to change clothing and clean up in a single, continuous forward motion and head back to where the boy was waiting for her. 

The young Jedi, he must be a Jedi, she figured, was waiting patiently. He nodded courteously to her and began to walk toward a waiting shuttle. Linn took the chance to stare. She'd never seen a Jedi up close. He looked normal enough. She didn't know what she expected, but this child/man certainly wasn't it. 

He gestured for her to get aboard. Linn took a seat in the back of the utilitarian transport. The door slid shut and they were off. 

*** 

The Master's ringing denouncement clanged through the chamber like a harsh bell. Obi-Wan felt it resound into his bones. All eyes in the chamber were on him, most especially Anakin's. Before he could even force a response from a mind and mouth that had closed in panic, Mace came back at him again, harsher still. 

"Did you really think you could hide from us the nature of your relationship with her when you come here just hours from her bed?" 

A whirl of emotions engulfed him - mortification and shame at the forefront. They, his Masters, all twelve of them, knew everything. They had known as he stood there. And what they didn't know, he could now feel them plucking from his memory, piece by agonizing piece. He felt their stares, could feel them pry his mind open and scour it. He pushed against them, struggling for a mental pattern that might screen him ... and Linn. 

"You would dare to compound your crime by blocking us now?" Ki-Adi-Mundi charged. 

"You've no right to ransack my memory like this," Obi-Wan protested, hotly, laboring to throw up some defense. 

"Do we not?" Yaddle asked. "For her such courtesy you did not show." 

His sense of shame deepened. For she was right. At least Linn had not known of the invasion. Here, he could feel them carving through every secret he had shared with her, slicing it from the deepest part of him, and dragging it on to the floor of the Council chamber for all of them to see. Obi-Wan felt cold sweat begin to bead on his face. 

"Love her you might," Yoda announced. He paused, and Obi-Wan felt the Master deftly cut through his shattered mental barriers. "Beautiful, you think she is. But no promises you made." 

If Yoda was a knife, Mace was a bludgeon. Where he went, Obi-Wan felt a hole open in his mind. "A secret beauty under the trappings of an oversized flightsuit," Mace Windu said, contempt at the edge of his voice. 

It was Saesee Tiin, the most profound telepath on the Council who went the deepest. "If you desired for her to call your real name, you should have told it to her." 

How had they done it, Obi-Wan moaned. Everything that had been private and special had become tawdry and cheap. It wasn't enough for them to know and for him to atone. His Masters were violating even the memories. 

"A violation it is, Obi-Wan," Yoda said, sternly, perceiving the direction of his unsaid protest. 

"Violation?" Master Piell repeated. "It is a grave violation of the Code to abuse your power for personal pleasure with an unknowing partner." 

Obi-Wan flinched. It hadn't been like that. Picking their way through his mind like clawbirds on carrion, couldn't they see that loneliness and grief had driven them together? 

"Help you heal, you thought she could," Yaddle observed. "Of losing Qui-Gon, ease the pain." 

"Qui-Gon is one with the Force. He speaks to you," Ki-Adi-Mundi said. "And yet, this was not enough?" 

"You dishonor your former Master and everything he gave you," Mace Windu began, winding up to level another blow, "by looking for comfort and understanding in a woman's bed." 

Ever so slightly, Obi-Wan felt himself beginning to tremble. He wrapped the tattered pieces of his psyche around himself, much the way he would his robe in the cold. Just when he thought he could bear no more, he felt a small hand slip its way into his, offering strength and reassurance. 

"Did you honestly think you could have a future with her?" Yarael Poof asked with disbelief. 

Obi-Wan returned Anakin's squeeze. "I hadn't considered--" 

Mace cut him off, contemptuous. "Obviously you hadn't considered the larger implications of your actions or you would not have become involved with her." 

The accusations were coming faster now. Even from those he had never heard from before. "Did you stop to consider the effect on your Padawan?" Eeth Koth said. 

Oppo Rancisis savagely added, in a tone of betrayal, "We entrust you with his training and this is the example you set?" 

"Your Padawan you have failed, Obi-Wan Kenobi," Yoda said gravely. "The Jedi you have disgraced." 

Obi-Wan hung his head, shame engulfing him. 

"No!" he heard Anakin exclaim. "Stop it, all of you!" 

Obi-Wan dropped to his knees in front of the boy, and took him gently by the shoulders. "Anakin. Don't. I'm all right." 

There were tears in the child's eyes. "Don't let them take you away from me too." 

"Never." Obi-Wan vowed that this was a pledge he would keep. He wiped a tear from Annie's cheek. "I promise." 

"Perhaps Anakin should leave us," Depa Billaba said, speaking for the first time, and in a tone that was not a suggestion. Obi-Wan felt a flush of gratitude to her. She looked pointedly at Yoda. 

"Go he may," Yoda acquiesced. 

Obi-Wan placed his hands on his Padawan's arms. "Anakin, I want you to go and wait for me in our quarters." 

"No! I won't leave you." 

"Anakin," he ordered gently. "Please. Go." The boy hesitated, opening his mouth to protest. "Anakin..." The boy nodded and hurried from the room. 

Obi-Wan slowly rose, closing his eyes in relief when he saw the door close behind the child. And opened them to see Linn being escorted in the chamber. 

She caught sight of him and pulled up short, looking him up and down, taking in his Jedi garb. Her shock resonated through him. 

"Thank you, Mistress Darrow for agreeing to meet with us," Mace Windu said. "You have our gratitude for your assistance in obtaining the data disk. Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi was just telling us how invaluable you were to his mission." 

Obi-Wan stepped forward. "This isn't necessary," he began. 

"Obi-Wan, you will be silent," Mace ordered, his voice as harsh as he had ever heard it. 

"Obi-Wan?" Linn repeated and pivoted to him again. A profound wave of betrayal washed through the chamber. Ben saw her eyes glisten for a moment, then harden into stone. She pointedly turned away from him and toward Mace Windu. She lifted her chin before speaking. "My father was killed for that disk, so it was in my interest as well to find out what was on it." 

"We are very sorry for your loss, Mistress Darrow," Depa Billaba said. 

"Thank you," Linn replied, simply. "May I ask why I was summoned here? I suspect there is more to it than your desire to thank me. After all, there are cards and floral bouquets for that sort of thing, aren't there?" 

Obi-Wan admired her courage. There were few in the universe that would not be cowed by the Jedi High Council. 

Mace Windu steepled his hands again. "It has come to our attention that Obi-Wan acted," he paused, seeming to search for the word, "inappropriately during his time with you." 

"There was nothing inappropriate about what happened between Ben and me," Linn bit back heatedly. "The only thing inappropriate is this gathering." 

"We regret that you feel so, Mistress Darrow. We did wish to be certain that you were properly compensated for your time and trouble," Mace went on. 

Linn started in shock. "Compensated?" she whispered. 

"We are also prepared to offer you the protection of the Jedi until the danger resulting from this transaction has passed," Master Piell said. 

"Jedi Knight Kenobi is, of course, unavailable for that assignment as he will be entering seclusion so that he may reflect on his transgressions," Ki-Adi-Mundi added. 

"No, thanks," Linn replied, sarcasm flowing. "I think I'll take my chances." 

"We have prepared a generous reward," Mace said. He signaled, and a droid rolled forward and dropped a small sack into her hands. It bulged with credit pieces. "But you must agree to never see Jedi Knight Kenobi again." 

Ben could feel her shaking with anger and hurt. He was revolted by every person in the chamber for doing this to her, saving the largest piece of that disgust for himself. This was his fault. All of it. Qui-Gon had tried to warn him, and once again he hadn't listened. 

Linn did not give the sack a glance. "I sell information, not myself," she retorted. "Perhaps," and she fixed her eyes coldly on him, "I should compensate you for **Obi-Wan's** time." With that she flung the contents of the bag at his feet. The bag burst apart and the credits skittered across the hard floor, the only sound in the stunned silence of the chamber. "Now if you'll excuse me," she said, and turned on her heel and left without looking back. 

The door hissed shut behind her as Obi-Wan stared down at the credits around his ankles. Anger and despair roared through him. "She didn't deserve that," he said between gritted teeth. "The fault is with me, not her." 

"The truth she needed to hear, young Obi-Wan," Yoda said. 

"I would have told her," he insisted. 

"We had little confidence in your resolve to do so," Mace said coolly. "Your emotions in this have not been clear." 

"Obi-Wan," Depa Billaba said softly. He pivoted to face her, trying to discern what he sensed from Depa that he had not from the others. She leaned forward but he could still barely see her face in the folds of her robe. "This has been a very difficult transition for Anakin. He continues to pine for his mother. To offer him any sense of a replacement is dangerous and could be extremely damaging. Surely, you can see that?" 

Obi-Wan hung his head, some of his anger draining. "Yes," he conceded. "That I have erred I do not dispute." 

"Leave us," Mace ordered. "You are to go into seclusion and spend the time meditating on the matter." 

He backed to the door, finally unable to bear another moment in the poisonous atmosphere. "But see her again you must not," Master Yoda's words followed him out the chamber. 

*** 

Linn stalked down the hallway away from the Jedi Council. She refused to give into the urge to run. She also refused to cry, and shook with the effort to hold back the tears. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. She kept her head up defiantly, daring any of the brown-robed figures she passed to give her a second look. Most of them averted their eyes to stare at the floor or even the ceiling. Her Jedi escort trailed behind her at a safe distance. What did he think? The woman of ill repute was going to drag him into a corner and steal his virtue? 

Was it a right or a left here, she struggled to remember. She guessed right, and sighed in relief as she pushed through the doors that led to the landing pad. She picked up her pace, and almost didn't see little Anakin step out of the shadows in time to stop from mowing him down. 

"Annie!" she exclaimed, and dropped down to her knees in front of him. 

"I wanted to say good-bye," he said in a small voice. "I saw them taking you in." 

The Jedi escort finally caught up. "Anakin," he said, "I do not believe you are supposed to be here." 

Before the child could respond, Linn whirled on him. "Back off, spoonbender," she hissed. 

The Jedi acquiesced with a bow and backed through the doors. Satisfied, Linn turned her attention to the boy. There were tears in his eyes and his upper lip was twitching with the effort not to cry. 

"Oh, sweetheart," she said, suddenly fighting tears of her own. She pulled him into a tight embrace. When she let him go, she rested her hands on his shoulders. "Everything will be all right, you'll see." 

"I don't want you to go." He hiccuped, and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. 

Linn took in the downsized version of the same Jedi outfit she'd seen Ben wearing in the Council chamber and felt a fresh wave of revulsion. What were they doing to this poor boy? Would they turn him into the same type of pathetic wretch as Ben? 

"Do you want to come with me?" Suddenly, Linn wanted nothing more than to get this child out of here and away from these warped beings. "I could take you back to Tatooine. To your mother." 

Anakin seemed to consider this for a moment. "No," he replied solemnly. "My destiny lies here. I must become a Jedi Knight if I am to free my mom and the other slaves." 

Linn closed her eyes. When she was nine, her biggest concern had been how she was going to convince Dar to buy her another space pop, and this child worried about righting the wrongs of the galaxy. 

"And besides," he went on, "Obi-Wan needs me." 

Linn bit back the caustic remark on the tip of her tongue. Speaking ill of Ben would only serve to hurt the boy, the one being in this whole mess who didn't deserve it. "Would you like me to get a message to your mother?" 

Annie's eyes lit up. "Please!" he exclaimed. "They don't allow me to contact her." 

Linn flinched, but for some reason, wasn't all that surprised either. "What's her name? Can you tell me where she lives?" 

"She lives in Mos Espa. Her name is Shmi Skywalker and Watto owns her." 

Loathing coursed through her again as Linn realized that not only had the Jedi taken Annie from his mother, but they had also left her as a slave. She hugged him again. "What do you want me to tell her, Annie?" 

"That I'm okay. That I miss her and think of her everyday," he paused, tears threatening again. "That I love her." 

"She's lucky to have such a wonderful son, Annie," Linn said, fingering his tiny braid, then smoothing his hair. "My ship has a Chad registry, A3645-73. Can you remember that?" 

Anakin nodded. "Chad, A3645-73," he repeated. 

"Any time you want to get a message to her, contact me and I'll be happy to be your personal courier, okay?" 

The boy nodded and peered over her shoulder towards the door. Reinforcements had arrived, she guessed. Conjecture which was confirmed when she heard a female voice say sternly, "Padawan, you were instructed to wait in your quarters." 

"Yes, Master," Anakin replied before turning his eyes back to Linn. He didn't even attempt to stop the tears this time. "Will I ever see you again?" he asked, voice trembling. 

Linn swallowed the planet-sized lump at the back of her throat. "I don't think so, Annie." She kissed his forehead softly. The boy threw his arms around her, and she held him tightly for a moment. 

"Be well, my young friend," she said, as she pulled away. She stood quickly and headed toward the shuttle. Linn didn't allow herself to look back. 

*** 

Obi-Wan strode down the hall, ignoring the stares of his fellow Jedi. He could feel their eyes burning with curiosity upon him as he passed. Word had undoubtedly already spread in the Temple that Obi-Wan Kenobi, newly knighted, had violated the Code in such a way as to earn the furious wrath of the High Council. The speculation swirling about burned into him, searing him, leaving him feeling raw and utterly exposed. 

The rankest Apprentice would probably know the worst of it within days, he thought angrily. The Council had done it deliberately, humiliating Linn before he could explain, and shaming him before his subordinates, peers, and Masters. The Code might not keep a Knight from straying; but the public disgrace that followed certainly would. Grimly, he realized, that was the whole point of this. 

He had to see Linn once more. She, and Annie, were the innocent victims in this. If he didn't get transport from the Temple's landing bay quickly, she would be gone. The pain she felt at his betrayal was still echoing through the Temple. Even if he hadn't known that she would immediately flee to her ship, Obi-Wan could have easily followed the trail of anguish left in her wake all the way back to where the Ron had docked. Space could take Master Yoda's parting command and the Code with it. The abject insubordination brought him up short. He had spent more than 10 years chafing over Qui-Gon's continual conflicts with the Council. "Qui-Gon's defiance I sense in you," Yoda had said. It was the only stirring of pride Obi-Wan could feel through this trial. 

How he had failed his Master and his Padawan eclipsed even the enormity of what he had done to Linn. On that, the Council had been correct. He had failed the boy, again and again, from the moment they had first met. He had resented Anakin as yet another detour in Qui-Gon's continual and tedious fascination with pathetic lifeforms. When his Master would have pushed him aside in favor of a new Padawan, Obi-Wan learned what it was to be jealous. 

He shuddered with the memory of it. Anakin had known it all, had tried to make amends, even shyly approaching him during the return to Naboo, only to be rebuffed. And then he had had the unmitigated gall to take Anakin as his Padawan. Not because he carried any hopes or deep in faith in him, but simply because he'd given Qui-Gon his word. He hadn't even bothered to ask Anakin if this was something he wanted. 

He would not let Anakin down again. He relaxed into the Force, needing to reach Linn, but wanting to check on Anakin, and was startled to discover the boy was close by. Obi-Wan picked up his pace and spied his Padawan waiting for a lift, with an older apprentice playing the role of "escort." They had come from the landing area, Obi-Wan immediately perceived. Anakin had seen Linn; her hurt hung about him. 

"Anakin," he called. "I asked you to wait in our quarters." 

Anakin turned toward him, eyes wary. "Yes, Master," he replied solemnly. "I'm going now." The child's sadness tore at Obi-Wan's heart. "She's leaving," he said softly. "I needed to say good-bye." 

Obi-Wan knelt before him and placed his hand on the side of the boy's face. He glanced to the side; the Apprentice was hanging back a few steps, his discomfiture apparent. "You may go now," Obi-Wan told him. 

"But-" 

"Leave us, Padawan," Obi-Wan ordered. 

The younger man pursed his lips and then obeyed, turning on his heel and heading down the hall. Obi-Wan turned his attention back to Annie. 

"Why am I always saying good-bye?" Anakin asked in a small voice. 

"Anakin, I owe you an apology. I've done so many things wrong..." he trailed off, unable to find the words. He wished, as he had countless times before, for a fraction of Qui-Gon's insight. His Master would have known what to say. 

The boy's eyes welled with tears. "Are you leaving me too?" he asked. 

"No!" Obi-Wan assured him. "Not unless-" he stopped, thinking back to the time when he had become Qui-Gon's Padawan, to what his Master had said to him. "Annie, in the Council chamber you shared with me your courage, your strength. You showed me that I could endure the shame of my offenses. Qui-Gon once told me, when I was just a little older than you are now, that when the Padawan teaches the Master in turn, the partnership is right. I believe he knew this would be the case with us." He took Annie by the shoulder and looked him squarely in the eyes. "If you wish it, I would be honored if you would remain my Padawan, Anakin Skywalker." 

Anakin's eyes widened, then he smiled through his tears. "I accept, Obi-Wan Kenobi," he said. 

Obi-Wan rested his forehead against his Padawan's feeling the Force pulse between them with a strength that had been lacking before, a powerful new bond established. 

Anakin pulled away first. "You need to say good-bye," he advised earnestly. 

"I know. Will you be all right for a while?" 

The boy nodded, wiping the tears from his face with the sleeve of his robe. "I'll even wait in our quarters," he said with a wry grin. 

Obi-Wan laughed softly, then rumpled Annie's hair. "I'll believe that when I see it." 

"Go," Annie urged. "You don't have much time." 

Obi-Wan nodded and rose to his feet. He squeezed his young charge's shoulder in thanks and hurried off. 

*** 

Hurry up!" Linn demanded of the droid charged with refueling her ship. The mechanical creature beeped something in response which could have been a "yes, ma'am" or an expletive. She didn't care, so long as it moved things along. 

She continued to pace the landing pad, as if her nervous energy and her own impatience could speed the process. 

This would teach her not to be ready to bolt at a moment's notice. Dar had always held enough fuel in reserve to make a quick escape, but she had been too wrapped up in Be-- no, Obi-Wan to think that clearly. He'd wanted to get under way to Coruscant with such an urgency that she hadn't bothered to top up on Abergado-Rae. And now she was paying the price. 

She already had her clearance. It had happened so quickly, she could only assume that every being in Coruscant Civilian Space Control knew about this too. The refueler had been waiting at the landing pad when she had returned. Obviously, the Jedi were as anxious to see her gone as she was to turn her rear engine exhausts on them. 

She must be stupider than the Gammoreans who guarded Fagina. The Gotal's words came back to haunt her. "Things are not as they seem," she'd said. The headache, Linn realized now had to have been the result of close proximity to Jedi. 

Space, she was such an idiot! 

How could she not have seen it? There had certainly been enough clues. Looking back she could count them off one by one. That he claimed to have killed the creature in the holo, yet didn't carry a blaster or vibroknife. That he traveled with a small child as his apprentice, a boy who at one point referred to him as "Master." Annie's wins in the shell game. His Galaxy Scout code of ethics coupled with a naivete of practical matters that she'd actually found charming! And then, of course, there had been Bela, so obviously terrified, who'd suddenly offered up the information they so desperately needed. 

Gods, how far did the manipulation go? Had he... Linn's knees buckled and she had to clutch at the Ron's rail for support as the magnitude of it smashed into her. Everything they had done. Everything **she** had done. Linn gagged, working air into her lungs. Could she truly have shared her bed and body with someone who was that depraved? 

Could he have made her... Linn sickened with the memory. Jedi had some sort of mind control, everyone knew that. But how far did it extend, how deep? She had no idea, only vague notions that were more legend than the facts with which she had unknowingly been living. She clung to the hope that the one unquestionable use she had seen, his manipulation of Bela, indicated that whatever mind control he could use was pretty crude. 

She sighed in frustration. How much longer until she could be away from here? She turned from the ramp to deliver another harangue to the droid and swallowed the curses. 

A brown robed figure was striding across the platform. The face and features were shrouded in the depths of the cowl. The robe flowed and swirled, whipping about in the downdrafts on the platform. The gait was unmistakable. Ben. Obi-Wan. Whatever the hell he was called. She could sense the intent and resolve in the walk. He was going to see her, and would obliterate anything in his path to do it. 

Her stomach shot down to take up residence somewhere around her knees. Linn fought the urge to run. She didn't have anywhere to go anyway. She considered blasting him into oblivion, but then remembered her weapon was still on the ship. So, she straightened her spine and crossed her arms in front of her and waited with what she hoped was a look of defiance. 

Obi-Wan moved swiftly. He did not slow when the Chancellor's guards attempted to block his way. He simply lifted a hand and made a motion as if flicking away an annoying bug. They went flying, and crumpled to the ground in unmoving heaps. 

He stopped less than a meter away from her and pulled back his hood. If there was supposed to be any drama, Linn thought, ill again at the recollection, it was immediately lost when he tried to look at her, and had to bury his eyes in the landing platform. 

"I'm not supposed to be here," he said. 

"Then why are you?" she asked acidly. 

He pulled his chin up. "I wanted... I needed to apologize and to say good-bye." 

"You think I'm going to let you off the hook for this?" she exclaimed, incredulous. "That I'm going to forgive you? You lied to me!" Linn heard her voice hike more shrilly than she would have liked. 

"I don't ask you to forgive me, just to try to understand." 

"Understand?" she bit out. "That you lied to me, that you..." 

She couldn't finish, closing her eyes to it and falling against the rail again. The prospect was too awful. What do you do when you have to have the truth from a lying, manipulative bastard of a Jedi? 

She felt his hand on her arm. "Don't you ever touch me," she hissed, jerking free with such a force it sent him backwards a step. "Ever." 

"Linn..." 

Only with that tender, caring tone, only with the presumption that he could still lay a hand on her did Linn find the courage. "You violated me!" she finally screamed. "You manipulated me, and everyone I came in contact with." Her voice rose in fury. "Wasn't it enough to get the disk? Did you have to use your Jedi powers to get me into bed too?" 

Obi-Wan flinched as if he'd been slapped. She'd drawn blood, and was disappointed that it didn't make her feel any better. 

"No!" he protested, and struggled to find the words. "I... mean, I didn't tell you who I was, but Linn, I didn't do what you think." He shook his head violently. "You should know me better than that." 

"I don't know you at all," she spat. 

"Linn, you can't leave here thinking this." 

She heard a real plea there. On this alone, Linn desperately wanted to believe him. "Give me one reason why I should accept a thing you say?" 

"Because..." 

Linn saw a wild, crazed look in him as he stumbled for something she could trust. 

He finally found it. "Because you saw exactly what I could and couldn't do with Bela. Even then you knew there was something wrong, didn't you?" 

Linn slowly nodded. 

Now he pinned her with his eyes, forcing her to see. "But you never saw or felt or thought anything like that with..." He floundered over the words, then forced them out. "With us, did you?" 

She shook her head, finally admitting in a profoundly relieved whisper, "No." 

They stood there, at the ramp, an arm's length and a galaxy's breadth apart. Fear had made her think there had been abuse; in her heart, in her mind, she had known the truth and that she couldn't rely on that easy excuse. Which now made the lie hurt all the more. Linn had to shove the sob back down that was forming. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

Obi-Wan hung his head. "I was going to. I tried to, but you told me you didn't want to hear it," he replied in a small voice. 

He had tried. She knew that, too. "I told you I shouldn't know about matters of galactic security," Linn finally said. "I never said I didn't want to know the truth about the person sharing my bed." 

"I never lied about how I feel about you," Obi-Wan gently insisted. "If things were different. If I were free to..." 

She believed him, and suddenly had to choke back the stinging tears she had been fighting. "I felt like I was falling in love with you. I thought you were..." 

"I was." He took a step toward her, and this time, she let him approach. 

"If you felt that way too, how could you have lied to me?" 

"Linn, I'm sorry." He tentatively reached out and caressed her cheek. "I understand how you feel..." he began. 

"How could you possibly understand?" Linn retorted. The rest of her response vanished as a whole new level of betrayal suddenly yawned in front of her. She stared at him, trying to grapple with the horrible suspicion. He dropped his eyes and his hand and she saw guilt stamped on his familiar face. 

Oh Gods. She **couldn't** collapse. She **wouldn't.** It all returned to her in a ghastly echo: How had he always known what to say? How had he always known what to do? 

The accusation came out as a gasp. "You've been reading me, haven't you?" 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and swallowed hard, pain etching his features. 

"You've been in my head, in my feelings?" His expression told the whole ghastly tale. Her next words were an indictment. "You've been there from the very beginning." 

He finally nodded. 

It was a violation more profound than any physical one could be. There had been no privacy, no secrecy. He had known everything. 

Linn grabbed at the rail, feeling the landing pad buckle under her feet. Outrage swept over her. She pulled herself up and the full import of his duplicity engulfed her. "You made me think you were a soulmate." She twisted the words, wanting him to choke on them. "But you were nothing but a voyeur." 

He colored, first bright red, then the palest ash. His mouth moved, but not sound came out. Finally, he rasped, "What I did, there's no excuse for it." 

"No, there's not." Linn accused, furious. "You've got the powers. You can't imagine the defilement of knowing someone has been picking through you like a Chadra-Fan on an unsuspecting tourist." 

"I can, Linn. Really..." 

She broke in, "You couldn't possibly. You sifted through my most private feelings and used that to get what you wanted from me." 

"I didn't," he stopped. "I mean, I did access your feelings, but I never used that information for any sort of gain." 

"And that's supposed to make a difference?" Linn sneered. She paused a moment and ran her hand across her mouth. "Are you poking around in my mind right now?" 

"No," he assured her. 

"Too bad. Might have saved me the time of having to tell what a despicable creature I think you are," she mocked. Anger had replaced the loathing. "You knew everything. You knew exactly how much you meant to me, and still, you let it go on. You knew that it would have to end like this." 

"But I felt the same way!" he finally protested, voice breaking. "You must know that." 

It made her feel marginally better to think that at least he was suffering a measure of the same pain. Her instincts hadn't been wrong. He had cared for her. Deeply. And probably still did. It only made her want to cut the wound deeper. 

"I knew it was... unlikely that we could have a future together," he finally said. "I had hoped that..." he trailed off. "I don't know what I hoped. I just didn't want it to end." 

"Yeah, well, I guess your exalted Jedi High Council saw to that, didn't they?" she shot back. 

Obi-Wan recoiled. "I didn't know that was going to happen. Of that I give you my word as a Jedi." 

"Your word's not worth much around here." 

Obi-Wan nodded and smirked depreciatively. "No, I suppose not." They stared at each other for a long, tense moment before he spoke again. "What they did to you was cruel and unnecessary." 

"Yeah, well, that was nothing compared to what you are all doing to Anakin." 

Obi-Wan's eyebrow raised. "What do you mean by that? He's my Padawan, a Jedi apprentice. He's well cared for." 

"I saw him as I was leaving the Jedi Temple," Linn said. "He misses his mother. He told me he's not allowed any contact with her." 

Obi-Wan nodded. "Anakin presents an unusual situation. His potential was discovered late, unfortunately after familial attachments had already been formed." 

"Unfortunately?" she echoed. "How old were you when they took you?" 

"I hardly see how that matters," Obi-Wan began. 

"How old?" she demanded. 

"Less than a year." 

"That's barbaric!" 

"Familial attachments can be dangerous to children with Jedi potential," he explained. "That sort of attachment can be used as a lever to..." 

"Is that in the manual?" Linn scoffed, cutting him off. 

"Linn, this is something that you cannot possibly understand." 

She went on, ignoring his protest, peppering him with a series of questions. "Do you remember your mother and father?" 

"Vaguely. Barely." 

"Are they still alive?" 

"I don't know." 

"Unbelievable," she muttered in disgust. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" 

"A brother." 

"Do you know where he is? How he is?" 

"No," Ben admitted. 

Linn laughed bitterly. "You have no idea what a family is. What that bond entails." 

"You're wrong. The Jedi are my family, the only one I've ever known." 

"And such a compassionate lot they are." She pointed a finger at him. "I saw more compassion displayed by Dar on an hourly basis than I have in all my encounters with the great and powerful Jedi," she spat. 

"That was not typical--" he started. 

"But you've just admitted what you're doing to Annie is," Linn interrupted. 

"It's something you do not understand, Linn," Obi-Wan, his temper beginning to rise. He took a deep breath before continuing. "Anakin will be fine. I'll see to that." 

"You'll forgive me if I don't find that particularly reassuring. One thing he'll certainly learn is how to lie and manipulate if you're to raise him." 

"Anakin understood the need for discretion," Ben replied sharply. 

"He's nine!!!" Linn yelled. "How could he possibly understand?" 

"Not everyone is lucky enough to have had the sheltered childhood that you received," Obi-Wan retorted hotly. 

"Right, I forgot how tough it must have been growing up in the Jedi Temple," Linn remarked sarcastically. "I bet you had to worry every day about where your next meal was coming from or whether you'd be able to scrounge enough credits to keep the ship together." 

They stared at each other for a long time, tempers cooling marginally, before Obi-Wan finally spoke. "Where will you go?" he asked. 

"I don't know. Somewhere really far from here," she replied, staring down at her booted feet. "Back to one of those places you feel so superior to. Somewhere where the currency is goods and information, not lives." 

"But you may not be safe there." That he was obviously concerned annoyed her. 

"I'll be a lot safer on the fringe, than I ever was with you," she said, snapping her eyes back to his. 

Another awkward silence ensued until the droid emitted a series of beeps and began to remove the fueling mechanism. She was free to go, and suddenly felt her feet were glued to the ground. 

"I'll never forget you, Linnayn Darrow," Obi-Wan said softly. "Never." 

She swallowed the lump in her throat and felt herself soften just a bit. He looked so lost, so pathetic. And then she remembered that at this very moment he could feel her weakening resolve and all her anger rushed back in wave. "And I shall forget you in the bed of every smuggler and fringe low life I can lay my hands on." 

She heard but didn't see his short gasp of pain, as she was already halfway up the ramp toward the cocoon of her ship. Without looking back, she sealed the hatch and rushed to the cockpit. Within moments, she lifted off the pad and rocketed toward the safety of space. 

*** 

The tea was very fine and quite rare. He rolled the delicate brew about his tongue, aerating it to maximize the bouquet. Yes, it was just as the merchant had promised -- a hint of gold Alderaanian yallow. 

He savored a second sip, and then perceived another feast for his senses. Someone, someone quite close, was in immense pain. Again, he lolled the warm liquid, delighting in how the aroma drifted up just as it was to be consumed. Then he set down the cup. It was necessary to take his time, of course, and maintain focus. One mustn't mix the pleasures of tea with the delectable misery of a being. It confused the palate. 

That was the odd thing about it. The being was familiar. It was human. Male. And was no stranger to... yes, that was it... despair, guilt, and searing loss. His nostrils flared, inhaling the swirling emotions carried on the wings of the Force. 

He flipped an intercom switch at his hand. Such things were meant to be savored immediately. Like a meal at the peak of preparedness, it could not wait. "D427?" 

"Sir?" his protocol droid responded. 

"Please cancel my lunch appointment with the Rodian delegation. Something has arisen." 

"Of course, Sir." 

"And no visitors please." 

"What of Mistress Taria, Sir?" 

Droids. He loathed them as much as the other lesser species which infected the galaxy. "Mistress Taria is not a visitor, D427. Do not make the same mistake again." 

He rose from the immense desk and prowled across his office. His feet made no noise, sinking luxuriantly into the plush, deep blue carpet. He followed the emotional stain in the Force as a carnivore would follow a trail of blood. The track led to the immense wall of glass at the far end of his suite. 

He perceived things dually. There were the obvious visual clues of sight, and the ones he perceived through the Force. Below him, on the landing pad, **his** landing pad, a ship had berthed. A dingy, nasty ship. He really must speak to his guard corps about this. 

On the platform, a Jedi stood. Ahhh. That answered that question and explained the familiarity. He licked his lips. This was simply delicious. First he lost his Master. And now, the young knight was losing his first woman. Desperation. And such guilt. Longing. What were they teaching at the Academy these days, he wondered. 

Not that the woman seemed to be much of a loss, he thought cryptically. He was an immense admirer and critic of the female form. This one had no sense of style, power, or grace. For these purposes, though, he did concede, she was magnificent. Flashing, passionate anger, pain so bloody and fresh, birds of prey should be circling. Oh, what had the young knight done to earn such vicious hatred? 

How very touching. It was all ending. Badly. And right at his feet. 

A twinge of irritation returned. Why did it have to be on **his** landing pad? 

A chime announced an intruding presence. The Force told him it was a welcome one. Sei entered the room, and glided its length to join him at the window. 

He took a step back, clearing his mind for the moment of the buffet laid out below. Noting his regard, Sei said nothing, but slowly turned about, so that he could admire her from all sides and angles. 

She wore a deep yellow. If the tea had been a fabric, Sei wore it today. Sensual. Vibrant. A wondrous septsilk gown. No adornment. Nothing to detract from the glory of the cloth and textures, and how it bound and draped her body. 

The tea, the surging emotion of the lovers below, and Sei's gown and form melded into an orgy of sensation. He was becoming quite aroused. It was luscious, to feel the pressure and churning blood, and then to experience the exquisite pain of denying it. However pleasurable the release was, the denial of it was that much more extraordinary. 

It was a lesson young Obi-Wan Kenobi had obviously not yet learned. 

Delectable. He nodded his approval and returned to observing the scene below. "Who is on my landing platform, Sei?" 

"Jedi Knight Kenobi, Sir. He has just returned with a holo transmission intercepted from Naboo space." 

"And the woman?" 

"Linnayn Darrow." 

Yes, of course. His assassins had been quite busy trying to prevent the recovery and delivery of this transmission, and then eliminating those who might have seen it. He would have to inform them of his displeasure later. 

"We will be receiving a report from Jedi Adi Gallia soon, I should imagine," he said. 

"I wonder which version, though," Sei asked. 

She was perceptive. As ruthless as she was decorative. He had considered taking her to bed. Sei would have been willing enough, or would have pretended. He much preferred her in this pristine state though, unspoiled by feigned passion and crude familiarity. 

"A rich red would become you tomorrow," he said. 

"Of course, Sir." 

Darrow stormed up her ramp. In moments, her ship roared away, leaving the devastated knight on the platform. 

The tight machine of his mind slowly turned as he considered how this incident could be contorted for his ends. 

First, the assassins. It would be necessary to punish them, of course. 

But, should he have Linnayn Darrow killed? He could think of a score of cutthroats who would delight in the assignment. Although not to his liking, she might be some sport for them. On the other hand, the Jedi now had the transmission; killing her would be a waste, and he so disliked waste. 

More importantly, he had sensed from her intense, furious hatred of the Jedi. What role had they played? Adi Gallia would tell him, although, as Sei had asked, what story would they try to spin for him? 

He concluded that the universe would be a more perilous place for the Jedi if Linnayn Darrow remained in it. 

He needed a new Apprentice. The loss of both Master and woman might be the wedge he needed for young Obi-Wan Kenobi. The knight was talented and he seemed to have recently developed a defiant streak that could be very useful. He would chafe under the rigidity of the Council. 

Obi-Wan had, so far, he perceived, only flirted with the Dark, as Darrow had evidently discovered. Would he be able to go beyond sampling, and truly consume the Dark? 

No, he thought not. He had a glimmer of a vision and smiled softly. 

"Sir?" Sei questioned. She was ever so discerning. 

"Merely thinking of the future, my dear." 

Obi-Wan Kenobi would best serve his purposes by remaining right where he was, the Dark Side told him. 

But what of Obi-Wan's Apprentice? Sometimes, the Jedi truly did make his job that much easier. Could they be more complacent? More arrogant? Did the Council truly fail to comprehend the consequences of a callousness that could rival his own? 

Through no interference of his own, the Jedi Council had already sown the seeds of hate and anger. If allowed to fester, when the time came, with the right levers, it might be possible to move Anakin Skywalker. 

What of this event? Could he use this as well? Very possibly. What affected the Master, affected the Padawan as well. It bore closer consideration and meditation. Another reason to keep Darrow alive, he thought. 

Obi-Wan had been staring up at the piece of sky into which Darrow had disappeared. Such anguish. Such passion. Such loss. This was not an event from which the knight would ever recover. 

He smiled broadly. 

"Sir?" Sei inquired again. 

Turning from the window, he strolled back to his desk. The tea in the pot would still be quite warm. 

"I noticed that you canceled your luncheon appointment. Have you decided to attend the Neimoidian memorial service after all?" 

They had been so useful, he considered. Nute Gunray and Rune Haako. How very unfortunate that with some assistance, they had agreed to a suicide pact. 

"I think not, Sei. Please arrange to have our condolences sent to the remains of the Trade Federation delegation." 

"Another fruit basket, Sir?" 

She was quite clever. Neimodians had deathly allergies to most citrus fruits. 

"That would do nicely, Sei." 

*** 

Yoda hobbled to the edge of the Jedi Tower observation deck. The hum of Coruscant throbbed about him, lights, sounds, beings, all pressed and compacted together. It was enough to drive him to the solitude of his swamp retreat. And today had been particularly trying. 

He sighed deeply, clearing his mind. With the ease of centuries of practice, a filter snapped into place. Like a volume control, the pulsating Force dimmed in intensity, but left his strong, sure connection to it untouched. 

The being he sensed approaching afforded him a genuine pang of pleasure he had not enjoyed for some time. "Finally, you come," he announced testily to the Jedi Master emerging from the lift. He had known her for over 40 years, a short time in the life span of his species, but a half a lifetime in the span of hers. Depa Billaba had been his Padawan. In the basics of many aspects of the Jedi way, she had been hopelessly inept. Her lack of expertise with a lightsaber was a matter of legend. Her control over objects and beings had never advanced beyond that of the most basic apprentice level. But no other of the human species in the history of their Order had ascended to Jedi Master more quickly and with greater unanimity. 

The divination of the human condition was her peculiar gift. In this, she had always been his Master. Indeed, he had taken her as his Padawan, a rare event in itself, recognizing this unique talent; a talent he candidly knew he did not have. Humans were intractable, unfathomable, torn by emotional tides that were foreign to his own, and many other species. What he could comprehend of the humans, he had learned from her. 

Depa had been oddly silent on the matter before the Council after the death of Qui-Gon Jinn. She had spoken only once, announcing with no fanfare that she believed Anakin Skywalker should be trained and that Obi-Wan Kenobi should be his teacher. That opinion had carried enormous weight with other members of the Council. Only Yoda had dissented. 

Depa would not be hurried or goaded. She moved quietly to his side and sighed, an echo of his earlier expression. 

"What say you now?" he demanded. 

"The Council overreacted," she answered after a time. 

This was expected. He responded, "We needed to be certain the woman did not see Obi-Wan again." 

"This is hardly the first time a human apprentice or knight has done this," Depa argued. "It will not be the last." 

Yoda humphed. It was an old discussion between them. 

Depa sensed his irritation and laughed, but with no mirth. "The need for the male and female human to seek each other for comfort is a sociobiological imperative of the species." Her voice took on the role of lecturer on a favorite topic. "If a human Jedi learns that the Force can have a role in this intimacy, the best we can hope for is that training will subdue the behavior. The knight may learn to control it, but it cannot be eliminated. It is foolish to try." 

Yes, she had explained it to him and to the Council. Many, many times. Each time it had arisen. And it had seemed the times and infractions had become more frequent. Always they were awkward and painful. Always there was resentment. 

She sighed, and turned away, her robe pooling about her feet and sweeping the ground. "The Jedi made an enemy today. No good will come of this." 

"What had to be done, we did," Yoda replied, feeling defensive, for he, too, had been troubled by the raw pain so obviously displayed. 

"Perhaps. But Mace could have accomplished this in a way that did not make her feel she was a girl for hire who traded her father's life for Republic currency." 

Yoda stamped his gimer stick with frustration. Surely she saw this. It had been clear to them all that Obi-Wan might not have been able to end the ill-advised liaison on his own. "Continued it might have. Now..." 

"Now, Linn Darrow hates him," Depa interrupted. 

Yoda stilled his objection, shifting uncomfortably. "And Obi-Wan?" he finally asked. 

He sensed Depa quiet her mind, and turn her focus outward. How did she do it, Yoda wondered. What did she see when she fixed her gaze on the Coruscant skyline that never dimmed? 

She finally said, "He will defy the Council and the Code and try to see her one more time. He will learn what he already knows. Between them, it is most certainly over." 

"Know this or believe it, do you?" he asked. 

"I know it." 

Yoda recognized the tone and trusted her conclusion implicitly. He was relieved with the resolution of this problem. But what of the far more serious matter, what of the boy? 

"Ready he was to be a knight. Not a teacher. Anakin's master, he should not have been." 

"I do not believe that we can sever the bond now. Not without significant risk to the child." 

He and Mace had concluded as much. But Depa's own insight mattered immensely, too. That she concurred added greater legitimacy to what might otherwise be contested in the Council. 

Depa turned again, toward him. She stooped down, and balancing, placed her hand on top of his. Time seemed to slip backward, and again, she was his precious, beloved Padawan. "You wonder, Master, why I opposed you on Anakin's training?" 

He nodded. 

Depa closed her eyes, and drew within herself, an exercise he had taught her. Even when they disagreed, even when he felt she erred, even though pride should have no place, he was proud of her, of her balance, of her ordered nature. 

She exhaled the deep breath. "There were the obvious reasons. In teaching Anakin what he himself lacked, Obi-Wan would be forced to learn patience and care. Also, I would not easily disregard the dying wish of Qui-Gon." 

Yoda nodded. This much he, too, had ascertained. 

But she had not finished. "Obi-Wan lost his own Master traumatically. I was very concerned for him and believed that a Padawan to train might be the only way to heal that wound." 

This was something he had not even considered. An unpleasant thought occurred to him. "Depa, that Obi-Wan would behave in this matter, did you foresee?" 

It was a fair, if confrontational, question. But Depa was too composed to rise to his challenge. She was also too honest not to answer. 

"If you mean, did I foresee this specific end, no, Yoda, I did not. I did know that Obi-Wan was very vulnerable and would stumble. And that this was a likely direction for him to fall." 

He wondered if she would have moved to prevent it if she had known. Depa did have her own agendas. 

She smiled, comprehending him. "I **did** try to warn him, Yoda." 

"And still, knowing all this, to Obi-Wan you entrusted Skywalker?" 

Depa shifted her weight, not really needing his arm for support in her crouching position, but like him, finding a comfortable familiarity in it. "Obi-Wan blames himself for Qui-Gon's death. To atone he intended to train Anakin whether the Council permitted it or not. Sanctioning it, we would at least not lose all control over the relationship." She could not resist adding, "I believe the wisdom of that course was demonstrated today." 

Yoda had to admit that Depa had been more foresighted than he had on this point. But, it was in her nature to seek order, not score points in a game of recrimination. And so, she continued, "You are right, Yoda. Anakin is very dangerous. Any time I seek guidance on his path, all avenues within the Force erupt in chaos." 

She had seen the same things then? He was not surprised. Again, despite the gravity of the charge, his heart welled with pride that his former apprentice had such insight and inner balance. But, why then had she opposed him? 

"Yoda, a Sith had died. We knew there must be another. Whether Obi-Wan killed the Master or the Apprentice, the survivor would seek a new Apprentice." She rested her head lightly on his hand and spoke her fear. "What would happen if a Sith Lord found and trained Anakin before we did?" 

The air closed in about them. "Knew his mother, he did." Yoda finally said, stroking her head. All the Jedi were dear to him. Depa he loved as a father loved a daughter who had blossomed into an equal. "Knew her too well. Too long. Open to the dark side, is he." 

Depa raised her head. "We claim children when they are infants. They never know their parents. In some species, this does not matter. But for most humans..." 

"No!" he retorted, as angry as only his Padawan could accomplish. Yoda shook his head vehemently. "For this reason, know their parents Jedi should not." 

She raised her hand and stroked his face, easing his irritation. "Yoda, you know this better than any," she said ever so gently. "That some humans seek their biological parents does not mean they love their Jedi family less." 

Once again, his Padawan had delivered a lesson to her Master, couched in logic and love. Yoda touched the mark of illumination Depa wore on her forehead. In remembrance of her murdered parents. 

Master and Padawan, Master and Master, Padawan and Master, the roles shifted, as they should, with neither ever attaining mastery over the other. The understanding forged in and through the Force transcended the differences of age, sex, and species. Why wasn't this bond of heart, spirit and mind enough for others, he wondered. 

She smiled, knowing that he had perceived her message, and slowly stood, to pace, her skirts moving quietly. As her face deepened into a frown, Yoda realized she was deeply troubled. And this disturbed him. 

"The chosen one is to bring balance, Yoda. What does that mean?" 

He watched her thoughtfully. "Meditated on this, you have." 

She nodded, her face silhouetted in stark relief against the bright, nightless sky. "Does it mean that we are imbalanced now?" Depa asked. "Have we gone too far? And if so, in what direction? Must our existing order be overturned before a new equilibrium can be found?" 

"Old the Jedi are," Yoda replied, feeling very ancient and tired. 

"Maybe too old. Maybe too rigid when we cannot respond with understanding to the needs and pain of the young." Depa paused, then finally spoke with calm acceptance. "We have failed them, Yoda. The Force tells me that we shall all suffer for this lack of compassion." 

"You believe this?" he asked. 

"I know it." 

THE END


End file.
